


Advantages of Foresight

by Zakaira



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Asexual Character, Blow Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Mpreg, Psychic Abilities, Self-Harm, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-09-13 19:14:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 44,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9137635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zakaira/pseuds/Zakaira
Summary: AU from 6th year. Gifted with psychic abilities, Draco sees that the path he is on, isn’t the one he wants to be on. He takes his future into his own hands, determined to change things. If he can’t beat Harry at their usual game, he’ll change the game to one Harry can’t help but fall for.All Harry knows is that Draco has suddenly become ill and is suffering from some medical issues. He feels bad and just wants to help.





	1. Chapter 1

Warning: Mentions visions of character death and rape that don’t actually happen.

 

* * *

 

Harry’s Pov:

            The first indication I had that something was off with Draco Malfoy, was when a slashing hex worked a little too well. Sure I was convinced from the time I followed him in Diagon Alley that he was up to something, but this was different. Something was wrong with him.

            I probably shouldn’t have cast the slashing hex at all. It was just our usual hallway squabble as we waited outside our Defense class. Until it wasn’t. I was about to cast another hex at him, assuming he would dodge or counter the first. I would’ve, if it were me. But it wasn’t me and the curse hit him in the wrist. The immediate screams of horror from my classmates drew my attention, before my brain even processed that the red liquid squirting from him in thick streams was blood. I’d severed the big artery in his wrist or something and he was quickly bleeding out.

            Hermione was the first to do something useful. She conjured linen bandages, leaped forward with them as Draco Malfoy slowly slumped to the floor, grabbing his wrist with his uninjured hand. Before he even hit the floor, she was wrapping that wrist. Then she was applying pressure, and with her head turned around to face me and Ron, screaming, “Don’t just stand there! Do something! Get help! He’s going to die, for goodness sakes!”

            Snape didn’t need to be fetched. While Hermione was still screaming her orders, he pushed his way through the crowd to Malfoy, head moving in a way that mimicked the arches of blood on the walls, ceiling, and floor. Then he seemed to center in on the now blood-drenched bandage wrapping Malfoy’s wrist. It was dripping blood. It had been clean just a minute ago. That fast it went from a growing red circle to completely drenched and dripping. Hermione’s hands were red too. Draco was still bleeding out.

            “Where’s his bag? Where are your potions, Draco?” Snape asked urgently.

            Pansy Parkinson offered up Draco’s schoolbag. Snape wasted no time digging through it. In seconds, he was pulling out a set of potion vials, selecting the Blood Replenishing draught, and pouring it down Draco’s throat. As he did so, he chastised, “Why have them in your bag, if you aren’t going to use them when you’re dying, Mr. Malfoy? Surely your Mother intended for you to treat yourself, instead of just letting yourself die, when she insisted you carry the set with you at all times.”

            At this point—the vial empty and Draco’s blood replenishing—Snape took Hermione’s position at the bandages around Draco’s wrist. He peeled them back, only for blood to spurt forth as vigorously as ever, but only long enough to attempt a healing spell. When it failed, Snape let the bandage fall back into place and conjured a tourniquet, which he used to bind Draco’s forearm, an inch above the slash. The blood slowed then, as evidenced by the reduced dripping from the bandage; it would save his life, but cost Draco the hand.

            “You are the one always scrying your own death. Didn’t you see this one coming? Why didn’t you do something about it?” Snape asked as he conjured a fresh bandage and reapplied pressure. The wound dribbled as he worked.

            “Did see it. Had to happened,” Draco replied tersely. He looked very pale, as if he still might die.

            “I suppose next you’ll tell me there was nothing you could have done to stop it?” Snape asked rhetorically, not waiting for a response. “Come on, Mr. Malfoy. I am sure you will be at St. Mungo’s soon enough to save the hand, but first we must get you to the Hospital Wing. Someone—Granger—contact the Headmaster and let him know that Mr. Malfoy is bleeding to death and will require a professional healer. Again.” As he spoke, he picked Draco up in his arms like a child and took two strides down the hall.

            Then Snape and Draco were gone.

            Hermione rushed after Snape. Ron and I followed after. We split away on the stairs, Snape carrying Draco up, to the Hospital Wing, while the three of us took off down the hall that led to the Gargoyle statue.

            We didn’t get any information from Dumbledore. He listened to our message and shoed us along, so that he could get to work.

            Later Snape sent a student for me. In his office, he metered out a series of detentions as punishment while lecturing me on how reckless and stupid I was, without first explaining if Draco was going to be alright.

            “Please sir? Is Malfoy okay? He’s going to live, isn’t he?” I asked.

            “He will live, but when I left, it was still uncertain whether they could save the hand,” Snape answered.

            “But why couldn’t you just heal him? Why couldn’t Madam Pomfrey heal him? Why didn’t the healing spells work?” I asked pleadingly. Why did my actions have horrible consequences? Why couldn’t magic just put everything right?

            “I cannot reveal the details of another student’s medical condition,” Snape answered, without telling me anything.

            I asked more questions. Remembering Snape’s words to Malfoy in the hallway, I asked if Draco was sick or had some disease. Draco had been carrying life-saving potions in his backpack, everywhere he went. Why would he do that, if he didn’t know he was sick? Why didn’t he tell anyone he was sick? Why was he still picking fights with me, if he knew it would lead to him bleeding to death? Snape refused to answer that line of questioning and sent me on my way.

            I found Ron and Hermione and we began to speculate on what was wrong with Malfoy. Our discussion ended abruptly with Hermione running off to the library, to look up medical conditions that could interfere with magical healing. She eventually came back, but with too many answers. There were too many possibilities, to know which one of them it was that was responsible for me almost becoming a murderer.

            Draco was out of school for a week before he came back, wrist still bandaged and fingers a sickening shade of purple that belied how close he’d been to losing the hand. I thought for a month that he still might lose the hand, because it stayed purple and his bandage was often spotted varying shades of red and occasionally seen dripping blood. But then he’d be sent to Madam Pomfrey and come back with a clean bandage and his fingers eventually turned back to normal.


	2. Chapter2

            The second indication I had that something was wrong with Draco was after our next fight. I was careful not to curse him. I even tried not to fight with him at all. I played the bigger person when he insulted me and my friends. I turned the other cheek when he taunted me. But when he caught me following him after Katie Bell had been cursed, he turned on me and threw the first punch. He threw the second one two, screaming something like, “And don’t look at my arse again!” It made no sense at all and we were in the middle of a fight, so I ignored it.

            He had me pinned on the ground, before I punched him back. I got him square in the eye with my first blow and in the jaw with my second.

            But then he was bleeding from his lip and like before, he didn’t seem to be clotting. It was a small wound this time, so there was no gushing of blood, but it dripped more than a little cut like that should. I pushed him off me and then dragged him to the Hospital Wing.

            Madam Pomfrey questioned me for details. She was glad I hadn’t used magic, but was upset that I’d hit him back. It didn’t matter that he’d hit me first, because I was okay. There was nothing wrong with me. I didn’t have a quickly blackening eye or a split lip that wouldn’t stop bleeding. And my old wrist slash didn’t reopen and start oozing out blood, even though it had been healed for ages. It was Malfoy with the black eye, split lip, and oozing wrist.

            “What did you do to his wrist?” Pomfrey asked, as she pressed accioed ice to Draco’s face.

            “Nothing. I didn’t even realize it was bleeding again until we were almost here,” I answered. As far as I knew, I hadn’t hit his wrist. I hadn’t aimed anywhere near it, knowing how long it had taken to heal last time.

            It wasn’t bleeding as much as the first time, but it seemed to be getting worse, not better, as the slash slowly grew in front of our eyes. Pomfrey pulled out Muggle sutures and stitched the skin closed, like St. Mungo’s had done for Mr. Weasley, when he was bitten by Nagini last year.

            “I can’t believe she’s using Muggle medicine on me, _again_ , _Potter_! This is all your fault, you stupid git,” Malfoy seethed.

            Had they resorted to Muggle sutures the first time? Is that why he’d taken so long to come back to school? Why the wound continued to bleed for so long? Did the sutures pop open and need to be redone? Is that how the school nurse became proficient with the Muggle technique?

            I almost replied with a scathing retort, like, “How was I supposed to know?” It wasn’t particularly clever and I bit it back at the last second, mindful that I was already in serious trouble. And I had just finished the last of my detentions with Snape too.

            “Enough, Mr. Malfoy,” Pomfrey scolded, then turned to me. “Mr. Potter, go fetch Professor McGonagall and inform her what you’ve done. She can assign your detention this time.”

            “But he hit me first!” I protested.

            “Where? Show me a scratch that justifies this level of beating?” she asked in reply.

            The blows he dealt me didn’t even hurt anymore. I don’t know why he was so weak that all those punches didn’t leave a mark, while my two punches had caused serious damage, but that’s the way it was, so I was the one in trouble.

            Later, when I mentioned this to McGonagall, she replied with a lecture on being the bigger man. I was clearly stronger than Draco, even though he was half a foot taller than me. I had the power to kill him without meaning too, but he couldn’t do the same to me. Because we were neither matched in strength nor resilience, it was my responsibility not to hurt him. He couldn’t hurt me when he tried, but if I kept up like this, he’d soon be dead at my hands and that is not what I wanted.

            I took my detentions without further compliant as I thought about this. Draco was annoying, but was he really nothing more than a pesky fly that I could squash with a snap of my fingers? Was it really all up to me that we not fight again? I guessed it was. I did not want to become a murderer and he’d scared me pretty fucking bad with his wrist the last time.

            As I gloomily walked back to my dorm to inform my friends of what had happened, I decided that I would just have to reclassify Draco in my mind. He was like a girl. I couldn’t hit a girl, even an annoying one like Pansy Parkinson. I couldn’t hit Draco either. And I certainly couldn’t aim another spell at him. I wasn’t going to let him provoke me again. It didn’t matter if he was on top of me, punching me in the face. I was going to be the bigger man, like McGonagall said and like I’d intended in the first place. And next time, I was going to do a better job of it, now that I knew it wasn’t just magical injuries that plagued him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have trouble gauging when everyone is ready for another chapter, so how about we do it this way: leave me a review when you’re ready for more. It’s doesn’t even have to be insightful or complex, just a “:)” will do. If people are keeping up, I’ll keep posting two chapters a week.


	3. Chapter3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To thank all of you for reviewing the last chapter, I rushed this one out as quick as I could! If you continue to keep up, I’ll continue to post two chapters a week.

            Draco didn’t recover right away. In fact, in the days that followed, he seemed to be getting worse. The next morning, I saw him leave breakfast without eating, because his lip was too swollen. After that, he didn’t even bother coming to the Great Hall at mealtimes. Word was that Pomfrey had stitched the lip, because it wouldn’t stop bleeding.

            Still, his lip was nothing compared to his eye. The bruise grew in diameter for three straight days as broken blood vessels under the skin failed to reseal. Then, when it was so large that it covered a third of his face, it started changing colors. It was green and yellow, but with dark two-inch circle in the epicenter, where I was sure he was still bleeding subcutaneously. Then it started growing smaller, the outer regions fading to normal skin, the interior of the dark circle turning green and yellow, with only the rim left purple.

            Three weeks after I hit him, I cornered him outside the Transfigurations courtyard, with the aid of the Marauder’s Map. I wasn’t going to hurt him, even if he tried to hurt me, but I wanted answers. “Why hasn’t your face healed, Malfoy?” I asked, jumping into his way from the other side of a low wall.

            “What’s it to you, Potter? You want a blank slate so you can hit me again?” he asked with a sneer.

            “I want to know what’s wrong with you. Why do you bleed so much? You didn’t used to. Why aren’t you getting better? You used to play at being injured, but now it’s pretty obvious you aren’t playing. You can’t play at something like this. And I _know_ you haven’t been eating. Look at you,” I waved my hands up and down, indicating his rail-thin body. He’d been losing weight all year and that had only sped up since his split lip. Now his clothes were hanging off him, the way Dudley’s old clothes hung off me after a summer with the Dursleys.

            “You really want to know?” he asked, head cocked at an inquisitive angle.

            I was sure he was about to have me on, but I wanted answers. “Yes.”

            “You are going to kill me soon. This is just my death bleeding backwards in time. It’s a dark curse,” he said flatly. This was supposed to be the joke, but he didn’t look like he was joking. He didn’t even stay around for the punch line; instead he pushed passed me with an, “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

            I stood there for a moment, jaw hanging open. Was he serious? Then I ran after him. I’ve always been faster than him. Combined with his not eating for weeks and I easily caught up to him.

            “Wait! Malfoy! Just Wait!” I yelled as I approached. I cut off his retreat, by throwing my body in his way.

            “I have things to do before I die,” he deadpanned. Was that glint in his eye unshed tears? Or was he holding back laughter, because he was making this up?

            “What do you mean? What are you talking about? How can you know?” I asked, thinking that this was not on Hermione’s lists of things that could be at fault for a blood clotting disorder. Magical hemophilia made a lot more sense.

            “I’m clairvoyant, if you haven’t guessed already. I saw my death. It was at your hands. Dark magic. A spell I’ve never seen, in a bathroom. I bleed out.”

            “If you’re clairvoyant, why aren’t you in Divinations, for the easy O?” I asked snarkily, despite the ring of truth. Something about this statement jived with what Snape had said in the hallway when Draco was bleeding out.

            “Because there’s nothing I need to be taught and because Trelawney is a hack. Anyone can see that. Don’t need the sight to see that.”

            “Then predict something for me. What’s in my future?” I challenged, despite what he said about Trelawney being true.

            “You become a murderer at the age of sixteen inside a girl’s bathroom. I can’t see anything passed my death now, but I used to see you killing the Dark Lord, by rebounding his own killing curse back onto him,” he started.

            At this point, memories of the fight in the graveyard came back to me, when I’d used the power of twin wand cores to fight Voldemort; had Lucius told Draco about that? Had Draco figured out that I was counting on the twin wand cores to defeat Voldemort?

            “I don’t need to prove anything to you. You are the one who kills me, not the other way around. If you don’t mind, seeing as we are not inside a bathroom, I’d like to get on with what is left of my life,” he said and moved to step passed me.

            “Wait!” I yelled, running after him.

            He didn’t wait, so I jogged alongside him and asked, “Isn’t there anything that can be done? Can’t we change it? I don’t want to kill you, Malfoy.”

            He stopped then. He stared off into space for a long time. I waved my hand in front of his face, but he didn’t see me. He stood frozen and staring. Something about his expression reminded me of Trelawney back in third year when she made that prediction about Peter Pettigrew. But unlike Trelawney, he did not speak. Whatever he saw, was for his eyes only. He was off in la-la land long enough for me to realize another difference: he remembered his visions, when Trelawney didn’t remember hers. But I’d had a hack teacher for Divinations, so I didn’t know if different seers saw things differently.

            “You’ll do anything to save me, will you?” he asked slowly, as if I’d just said I would and he was contemplating his options.

            “Yes. What did you see?” I asked. Part of me was still skeptical, but if he was telling the truth and there was something I could do about it, I had to know what that something was.

            “A potion. A shielding potion. And. And a ceremony, to make the potion work. But you won’t do it. You’re going to run off and talk to Professor Snape. I can only see myself, mind you, but you tell me that’s where you’re going.”

            “What kind of shield potion?” I asked.

            “It requires a donation from my attacker. It will only shield me from death at your hands. You’ll still be able to almost kill me, but when you hit me with the bleeding curse that bleeds back through time, I will live.”

            “I don’t know a bleeding curse that bleeds back through time,” I countered.

            “You do. You might not know that you know it, though. I didn’t see my death until you learned it. The whole bleeding thing didn’t get bad until you learned it, Potter.”

            “What sort of donation?” I asked, changing tracks. If it was minor, then what would it hurt to give it to him? I had galleons.

            “Semen. It requires bodily fluid excreted during sex. For wizards, that’s semen. I’m assuming you know how to extract semen. I didn’t see the extraction. I’m not there for that. I’d rather die, than extract it myself.”

            I stared gaping at him.

            “I knew you wouldn’t do it. Go talk to Snape and let me get back to what I was doing,” he said and turned again to leave. This time I let him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of what Draco said there is true. Some of it are truths Draco had manipulated to get Harry to go along with his plan. Is Draco’s plan starting to shape up, or do you need more clues?  
> Please Review!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank all of you amazing reviewers! I rushed this one out right away, especially for you!

            Snape was in class, surrounded by students and then he rushed off to a meeting with Dumbledore, so I had to wait. But after he left Dumbledore’s office, I followed him down to the Dungeons. We were outside his own office, when he turned on me and asked, “Is there a reason you are following me, Mr. Potter?”

            “Um,” I stammered, caught out. “I wanted to talk to you?”

            “Ten points for stalking a teacher. In my office,” he said, before turning. With billowing robes, he strode into his office.

            I followed him in.

            He turned around with a flair of his robes to stand in front of me. Then he lifted his wand arm, aimed towards the door, and cast a few spells to ensure our privacy, including the Half-Blood Prince’s Muffliato.

            “Now, what is it you want, Mr. Potter?” he asked.

            “Um. Draco Malfoy? He said I’m going to kill him. He said he saw it. Can he really see the future?” I asked.

            Snape, looking rather put upon, answered, “To a point. The future can change, Mr. Potter.”

            “How can you be sure? What if he’s having me on?”

            “There are a number of little things over the years that have convinced me. When he was little, I used to receive owls from him the moment I decided to stop by Malfoy Manor to see his parents; asking me to bring him bilberries or sweets, mostly. When he was three, he told his mother he saw the two of you becoming best friends. He went on about it for years. Then he met you and he came crying to me, asking why you were so mean and violent. I hadn’t seen you do anything mean or violent, but he said he could see it. He didn’t know what set you off back in first year, but everything about him seemed to make you mad and his predictions started coming true. Then he decided that he wasn’t going to take it lying down anymore. If he saw you being mean to him, he was going to get you first. It’s illogical, to react before an event happens, but I’ve given up trying to explain that. To a seer, the things he sees have happened and his pre-reactions to them are not the cause. Non-seers do not think like that. It’s not something one can easily make up,” Snape said.

            “So, I really try to kill him then?” I asked.

            “What did he tell you about his death?” Snape asked.

            “A bleeding curse that bleeds back through time cast in a girl’s bathroom. What would we even be doing in a girl’s bathroom?”

            “A bleeding curse that bleeds back through time… Do you know such a curse, Mr. Potter?” Snape leveled a firm stare at me with those black eyes of his.

            “No. I don’t. Do you?”

            “No. I have never heard of such a thing. New curses can be invented and old ones rediscovered in ancient textbooks, but I suspect it is not the curse itself that bleeds back through time. I would guess, seeing as it’s you we are talking about, you’d be more likely to use a simple slashing hex on him. But Mr. Malfoy was rather insistent that he didn’t know the curse, which is why he couldn’t tell it to me. Perhaps…perhaps you can think of a rare curse you only learned this year that could result in someone bleeding to death?”

            I shook my head, unable to think of any that fit the description. I didn’t know the curse. I didn’t want to know it, because I didn’t want to use it on Draco. “But if the curse doesn’t bleed back through time, what is wrong with Malfoy?” I asked.

            Snape sighed. “In the professional opinion of the mind healers at St. Mungo’s, Draco’s affliction is all in his head. He has had trouble healing from wounds inflicted by you before—”

            “What?” I interrupted. Surely if he’d been hurt before, he would’ve played it up and paraded the injury around the entire school for sympathy.

            “Quidditch last year. I do recall a certain debacle out on the pitch that Pomfrey was unable to heal…” Snape drawled.

            “Oh…” I said. “Was Malfoy really hurt bad?” I’d been too concerned about myself and Fred and the unfair punishment of banning us from Quidditch for the rest of the year, when Draco had started it, to care about how hurt Draco was.

            “Nothing out of the ordinary for a schoolyard fight. It just couldn’t be healed.”

            “He seems to have trouble healing. I thought it was a medical condition,” I replied.

            “It’s only with certain people, Mr. Potter. He only has trouble healing from injuries _you_ inflict on him. He got into it with Theo Nott at the beginning of this school term and Pomfrey fixed him right up. Zacharias Smith punched him in the face, same as you, and that was healed too. Any other student is no problem, but injuries inflicted by you, magic cannot heal.”

            “Oh…” I trailed off, not knowing what to say. “Why me?”

            “According to the healers, it is psychological. He believes you are going to kill him, so the injuries you inflict on him are amplified by his own mindset. His own magic is blocking the healing spells, making his predictions more likely to come true.”

            “I don’t want to kill him, maybe I _should_ do the shield potion.”

            “What shield potion?” Snape asked pointedly.

            “Malfoy suggested I help him make a shield potion, sir.”

            “What sort of shield potion?”

            “I don’t know. He didn’t tell me the details!” I shouted back, cheeks warming in embarrassment. The details Draco told me were _not_ the sort of thing I was about to tell Snape.

            “Why are you shouting, Mr. Potter? Ten points from Gryffindor.” I swear, taking points was Snape’s go-to reaction to everything. Bloody git.

            “I don’t know!” I shouted back, angry about the points.

            “Calm down and perhaps we could discuss shield options. I do not know of a shield potion that would work better than a shield ritual. Of course, shield rituals are permanent, so Mr. Malfoy would have a permanent advantage over you in a fight. That is why most combatants refuse to participate in shield rituals with the enemy and why I push learning shield charms in class.”

            I calmed down as much as I could and asked, “What do you have in mind?”

            Snape pulled out books on shield magic, reading me excerpts from experts purporting the advantages of a shield ritual over shield potions. There was a very powerful ritual that if done before a fight, would stop all magic I cast from hurting Draco. It would protect him from me, even if I lost control and cast something I didn’t mean to cast. Not many enemies would agree to cast it on each other before a fight, so it was mostly used by people on the same side of a battle, to prevent stray hexes from turning into friendly fire.

            “This is something we could use in the war!” I announced excitedly, thinking that I wouldn’t have to worry so much about what I cast, if Ron and Hermione were protected from my stray hexes.

            “It has its disadvantages too, Mr. Potter. It is permanent, so if the witch or wizard you shield from yourself changes sides, the protection cannot be lifted. You could end up giving the Dark Lord an easy means to your destruction,” Snape warned.

            Ron and Hermione wouldn’t turn on me—I was sure of it—so there would be no reason not to do this ritual with them. I was going to do it. I would shield Draco, Ron, and Hermione from me, using this ritual. “They could perform the same on me. Then I couldn’t hurt them and they couldn’t hurt me,” I reasoned, not bothering to specify who I was talking about.

            “Mr. Malfoy is not likely to agree to perform the same on you. You need to be careful with him, because of who his father is. You don’t know where his allegiances lie,” Snape warned. As he said the last few words, Draco burst through the door, crying.

            “He beats me to death!” Draco announced, gasping for breath in between sobs. “I want to visit my mother!”

            Snape sighed. “Go,” he said, motioning towards his fireplace. He picked up his wand and lit a fire.

            Draco plucked a bit of floo powder from a box on the mantel, as if this was something he did all the time, and was off through the floo, with a call of, “Malfoy Manor.”

            “I am not going to do it. I don’t care what he does to provoke me. I won’t hit him,” I swore.

            “You say that now, Mr. Potter, but you have no idea what he is up to. In the heat of the moment, when you learn the truth, your rage may be uncontrollable,” Snape warned.

            I nodded. “What _is_ he up to?”

            “If I knew that, I would inform the Headmaster, not you. Take this book and go. I need to find a book with magic that can counter Muggle assaults,” Snape said, dismissing me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is one of those times that keeping a little bit of information from Snape, will make a huge difference…  
> Also the difference between the type of magic Snape wants to do versus the type Draco wants, should give you a hint at what Draco’s plan is.  
> Please Review


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I’ve been very ill and your feedback gave me the motivation to get this chapter finished.

            When Draco came back, I explained the ritual Snape gave me, to prevent me from killing Draco with my magic. I even pulled the book Snape gave me out and showed it to Draco.

            “My plan is better. My potion has a ritual too and it will protect me from all forms of death at your hands, including non-magical,” Draco countered.

            “Show me the potions book you are getting it from,” I replied. “I want to see exactly what you are talking about, so I can compare.”

            Draco acquiesced and pulled out a black leather bound book from his school bag, titled Domestic Violence and How to Counter it Magically. It was an odd choice for a defensive potion, given that we weren’t married and the violence between us wasn’t domestic.

            “Why that book?” I asked.

            “Not that it’s any of your business, Potter, but I saw myself with this book, so I bought it. It seems useful.”

            He flipped to a potion meant to be used to protect oneself from one’s abusive partner or husband. Unlike Snape’s ritual, the potion didn’t need the attacker to agree to the protection or participate in any way. All that was required was a bit of sexual fluid, to establish the attacker as the victim’s spouse. That was why Draco needed my sperm. But it didn’t prevent the spouse from harming the victim; it only prevented the spouse’s violence from resulting in the death of the victim. The book said nothing about a ritual to go with the potion.

            “What’s the ritual?”

            “I don’t have that book on me. It’s just to trick the potion into thinking we are in a relationship, so the potion will work,” Draco answered.

            “I trust Snape. He’ll find another ritual to protect you from my hands, but let’s start with his ritual that protects you from my magic. It’s better, because I won’t even be able to hurt you. The curses will just bounce right off you. With your plan, you’ll still be hurt. And with how hard it is for you to heal, I’d prefer it if you didn’t get hurt at all,” I concluded after studying the potion.

            “But with his, I still end up dead at your hands. With mine, I live and you realize what a monster you are,” he countered.

            “But yours requires sex and stuff and we’re not together.”

            Draco shuddered in revulsion at the thought. “That’s what the ritual is for. Of course we’re not together. You’re disgusting, Potter. Why is it always sex with you?” His face was paler than usual under the remains of the black eye, indicating that he really was repulsed by the thought of sex with me. And the way he said it, made me think he’d seen things involving me and sex in his visions.

            For a second I thought I was glad he wasn’t interested in me sexually, because I wasn’t interested in him like that either. But that thought didn’t set right with me, because the image of a naked imaginary Draco that flashed into my mind was hot. I was barely beginning to process that thought, when he went into one of his trances.

            Draco came out of it puking, spraying vomit all over my shoes. I was surprised to recognize bits of food in the vomit—the orange of carrot for sure and possibly chicken—because I thought he still wasn’t eating from his split lip.

            “When did you start eating again?” I asked in annoyance.

            “Mother’s soup. Why do you have to be so perverted, Potter?” Draco asked with a look of utter disgust on his face. “For the record, I am _never, not ever,_ not in a billion years and I don’t care how famous you get for defeating who, going to sleep with you. No. Stop thinking about it, because it’s not going to happen. Don’t even think about me that way. I’m never going to have sex with anyone, period, so those fantasies in your head are just that: imaginary. Best just stop them altogether, because I’ll let you kill me, before I ever have sex. I don’t even see what you like about the idea. It’s gross. What is wrong with you?”

            I let his rant continue uninterrupted, mostly because I had no idea what he was talking about.

            When he finished, I asked, “What are you on about now, Malfoy?”

            He paused then, taken aback. “You…you don’t…know?” he asked.

            “No, I don’t know,” I insisted. Maybe I had a feeling. It hadn’t occurred to me before just now, but maybe he wasn’t bad looking. Maybe I was attracted to him. Did that mean I was gay? But if I was gay, then what was with that crush I’d had on Cho Chang? It was over now, after that horrid kiss, but I had liked her, hadn’t I?

            “Then never mind. If we’re playing denial, then fine. I’d just as soon as forget all knowledge of what a flaming poof you are anyway,” he replied looking relieved.

            “Flaming poof? Me?” I asked incredulously.

            “Don’t act like we both don’t know you’re gay, Potter. I’ve seen you checking out my arse. This whole,” he motioned towards his face with the fading black eye and lip that was just a tad bit swollen, “fight was about me catching you following me around, staring at my arse!” he accused.

            “I was not staring at your arse!” I denied.

            “Likely story. I bet the twin Weasleys just invented some sort of curse that _forces_ your eyes to stay glued down there, Potter!”

            “I was not looking at your arse! I’ve never even noticed it before.” As I said this, my eyes subconsciously lowered to the body part in question. It was a nice arse.

            “Hey, I’m _up here_ , you bloody tosser! This is sexual harassment and I’ll have your gay arse expelled for this!” he screamed at me, looking genuinely upset and sickened by my actions. “I tried telling Snape you’d do this, but no one ever listens to me. ‘Surely Potter will control his teenaged hormones once you indicate that his feelings are not reciprocated, Mr. Malfoy.’ Yeah right. Well I’m telling you now: not only are they _not_ reciprocated, I think they’re disgusting.”

            “Okayyyyy…” I trailed off, not knowing how to respond to this. It didn’t really matter how nice his arse was, if he was so disgusted by me. At least this reaction likely meant that the fact he’d chosen a potion meant for sexual partners probably did not have any hidden meaning.

            He turned and started stomping towards the stairs. I grabbed both our books and ran after him.

            When I caught up to him, I asked, “Where are you going?” as I jogged beside him.

            “To tell Dumbledore what you just did. My father may not have influence here anymore, Potter, but I have the same rights as every other student. Dumbledore has a Pensieve. I’m going to show him what you did and then you’ll be expelled!”

            “All I did was look!” I protested. “I thought you’d like the attention! The way you’re always prancing about with your perfectly combed hair!” Really, he seemed the type that would love nothing more than to have the whole school fawning over how pretty he was.

            “This time it’s a look. Next time it’s rape. Leave me the fuck alone, you pervert,” he replied, going as fast as he could towards the Headmaster’s office.

            “Rape? Who said anything about rape?”

            “I did, Potter. I don’t get why they don’t let me press charges now, before it happens, but they’re all useless tossers too. Just so we’re clear, I will _never_ agree to your fantasies, so you might as well stop having them, because if something like that ever happens between us, it _will_ be against my will and I will press charges against you.”

            “I haven’t even had any fantasies yet!” I protested.

            “But you will! I’ve been seeing them forever. They bleed back worse than _anything_! At first I thought it was cool, because it was sex and that was a grown-up thing that none of the other kids knew about. But then I _met you_ and realized how awful you are. You are the reason I never want to have sex in my entire life, you pig!”

            It took me awhile to process this. He gained a flight of stairs before I decided that it was best to deal with whatever this was later. Now I needed to get him to stop trying to get me expelled and agree to Snape’s shield ritual.

            “Could we at least do the ritual, _before_ you have me expelled for something I haven’t thought about doing yet?” I asked.

            “Why?” he asked.

            “So I don’t hurt you, you idiot!”

            He stopped, frozen for a moment, before he spoke. “I’ll bleed out, when you get me alone in that bathroom. I suppose you choose Moaning Murtle’s loo, because no one ever goes in there and you want privacy to carry out your disgusting thoughts.”

            “Moaning Murtle’s loo?” I asked confused. He’d told me it was inside a girl’s bathroom, but never which.

            “Alright, but I don’t trust your casting. I want Snape to help perform the ritual and then I’ll go to the Headmaster with my complaint,” he said.

            He turned on his heel and headed back downstairs, towards Snape’s office.

            I followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there it is: Draco started the last fight, because he thought Harry was staring at his arse and that bothered him more than might be expected, because he’s been having visions of Harry raping him for years. Has anyone figured out why Draco started having the visions of rape? And do you feel Harry is responsible for what he may do in the future, even though he hasn’t done it yet, or is Draco over-reacting?


	6. Chapter 6

            Moments after we entered Snape’s office, Draco asked to speak in private, which Snape agreed to, so I was made to wait out in the hall. I tried listening in, but I couldn’t hear anything and I didn’t have a pair of extendable ears on me. Even if I did, they probably wouldn’t work, because Snape knew Muffliato and that I would try to listen in. I gave up and waited impatiently for a time. The seconds dragged on like hours as I wondered what Draco was telling Snape about me.

            I paced a bit, then picked at my nails and almost dropped the two books in my arms in the process. I set them on the floor and noticed that even after all that running through the halls, there was still a bit of Draco’s vomit on my shoes. Cleaning them became my new task, as my mind continued to run away with imaginations of what was being said on the other side of the door. After a couple of Scourgifies, my shoes were as good as they got, but I kept on casting, without even thinking about what I was doing.

            Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, the door opened and I was allowed inside Snape’s office. I hastily stashed my wand up my sleeve, picked up the two books I’d brought with me, and dashed inside.

            Draco’s face was red and puffy, like he’d been crying. He sniffled and wiped his nose, furthering my suspicions.

            “Give me that!” Draco proclaimed, snatching his book out of my grasp and tucking it inside his bookbag.

            Snape eyed the action attentively, probably trying to see what book Draco was hiding, but said nothing about it.

            Then Snape began walking us through the steps of the ritual. It was rather simple, but I guess there is strength in simplicity. Within the hour, Draco was shielded from me.

            “Now we can do it the other way around, so Draco can’t hurt me,” I suggested when we finished.

            “What!?!” Draco bellowed in anger. He started turning a shade of purple that was usually reserved for Uncle Vernon.

            “I just thought it would be fair if you couldn’t hurt me either…” I replied, cowering at his anger.

            “I already can’t hurt you! You want me to leave myself completely defenseless for your next attack!” Draco accused.

            “No…” I hedged, unsure what I was saying.

            “I still see my death at your hands. I still see you raping me. I still see so many awful things done to me by you. Why would I agree to give up any possible means of protection that I have at my disposal? You’re the murderer, not me. I die without killing anyone.”

            “Only because I kill you first. What about the war that’s coming?” I asked.

            “What about it?” he asked.

            “If you survive, you can’t tell me you make it out without hurting anyone,” I challenged.

            “I do. Before you decided to kill me, I made it out of the war without so much as a Cruciatus to my name,” Draco replied.

            “As interesting as this fight is, it is getting rather tedious. Draco, we both know you aren’t telling Potter the whole truth. Unless you want to confess—which isn’t a half bad idea by the way, because I can arrange for you and your mother to go into hiding—then I suggest you curb this argument.” Then Snape kindly asked, “Do you want to confess, Draco?”

            “No. I’m not going to do anything! I’m just trying to protect my father!” Draco replied.

            “Calm down, Draco,” Snape said.

            “Potter is the guilty one. He’s going to kill me! And he sexually harassed me today!”

            Snape sighed. “That one is a matter for the Headmaster to decide. He can put your memories in a Pensieve and see what happened.”

            “Fine. And this time he’ll see it’s just like I said! Potter was looking at me and having disgusting thoughts!” Draco accused.

            “I haven’t had _any_ thoughts yet. My brain doesn’t work that fast,” I put in.

            Snape chuckled at that. “Enough you two. Up to the Headmaster’s office. This one is not my problem, because I do not have a Pensieve.”

            Snape ushered us up to Dumbledore’s office where Draco repeated his accusations and I repeated my denials. Dumbledore asked Draco if he was sure, which he said he was. Then Dumbledore asked me if there was anything I wanted to say in my defense.

            “He pointed it out. I never considered how fit it was, until he drew my attention to it,” I said, referring to his arse. “I didn’t even know I was gay.”

            “Please! Everyone knows you’re gay, Potter,” Draco countered.

            “Not me! I didn’t know!” I protested.

            “Enough. Harry, your memories of the event first,” Dumbledore said, handing me a flask.

            I knew what it was for. I summoned the memory and expelled it out into the flask. Dumbledore took it to his Pensieve for viewing.

            I waited anxiously, casting furtive glances at Draco as my mind raced.

            Finally, Dumbledore came back to us with a fond, “Ah, young love. So sweet.”

            Draco screamed, took a step towards the headmaster in a manner that indicated impending violence, but Snape intervened, catching Draco by the shoulders.

            “Draco, your turn,” Snape said, passing over a vial.

            Draco repeated the memory extraction process and handed his to Dumbledore. Dumbledore repeated the viewing process, taking even longer.

            This time, when Dumbledore returned from the memory, he looked sad. “Harry, my boy, I am sad to say that your feelings are not returned. It’s very subtle, you see, the same memory, but from two perspectives. Almost the same, but so different. Everything was so very much unwanted on Mr. Malfoy’s part. I could see that. You may think it’s innocent, Harry, but you don’t see where it will lead, the way he does. He sees the look and links it to the rape.” Then Dumbledore turned to address Draco, “That was sneaky of you, my boy, to give me both memories. Very Slytherin of you. But unfortunately, we have to forgive the first look. After all, that was the moment our dear Harry first began to suspect he is gay. That’s all it was to him: that realization of his attraction to the same sex. And the second memory hasn’t happened yet.”

            “So, I have to wait until he attacks me,” Draco stated.

            “But does it have to happen, my boy? Perhaps now that he knows his attention is unwanted, the possibility might go away,” Dumbledore replied.

            “It won’t,” Draco insisted.

            “It can’t hurt to try. Severus, why don’t you take Draco to see his mother and I will have a little chat with Harry,” Dumbledore reasoned.

            Snape agreed and dragged Draco off through the floo.

            When we were alone, Dumbledore said, “Harry, now we can talk more freely, without having to worry about upsetting Draco further.”

            “Talk about what? I’m not going to rape him. I don’t care how fit he is, I wouldn’t do that,” I insisted.

            “I want to talk about Draco. His actions may seem odd to you, but you have to understand that he’s been having these visions of you since the age of three. Mind you, they didn’t turn sexual until he was ten, almost eleven. But still, a ten or eleven-year-old should not be seeing graphic sexual images at all.”

            I nodded, to show that I agreed.

            Dumbledore continued, “He didn’t tell anyone about what he was seeing, until after the images turned negative. He saw you as his friend at first. He thought the sex would be okay, because the two of you would get married and you’d be adults. But then you refused his friendship and took an instant dislike to him. Now he sees the same things, but tinged in a different light. Things are no longer mutual nor wanted, but he still sees them happening. I’m afraid you cocked this one up, my boy. I suspect Draco was meant to be your soulmate, but in this life, you are star-crossed lovers. You must give him up. You will come together in another life. Leave him be in this one.”

            He stopped then and I was left blinking in confusion. “What?” I eventually asked.

            “If you just decide not to pursue the feelings you have for him, the unwanted images should stop coming to him. He’s been tortured by them long enough. It’s a lost cause, I’m afraid. Better luck next lifetime, my boy.”

            “You _can’t_ be serious.”

            “Oh, I am. You must put him out of your mind—” Dumbledore started, but I cut him off.

            “You think Malfoy is my _soulmate_?” I asked incredulously.

            “Yes,” Dumbledore answered simply.

            There were several moments of silence while I figured out how to respond to this. Finally, I said, “If he is, then why can’t we be together after the war? After I kill Voldemort and he no longer has to worry about his dad?” I don’t know why my mind went down this track, but it did.

            “Harry, Draco is asexual. He’s been traumatized by years of unwanted visions. Lucius was quite upset about it when he found out. He forced Draco to see a mind-healer all summer two years in a row. If it wasn’t for his incarceration and Bellatrix’s alternative summer lessons plans, I’m sure it would’ve been three years in a row,” Dumbledore revealed.

            “I don’t understand,” I admitted.

            “It’s rather simple, my boy. Draco Malfoy has absolutely no interest in sex. Odd for a boy his age, I know, but true. The way he sees it, he does not even want to have the sex it will take to create an heir. I believe he plans on an arranged marriage, without sex, in which a healer extracts what is needed to make an heir. That’s the life he wants. It’s the only life he can see for himself. If you pursue him, you will have to do it knowing that he will not be able to have sex with you. Not ever. It would be best to give the idea up and leave the boy in peace. You have no chance of wooing him, as long as you leave sex on the table.”

            Somewhere during that, I figured out what we were talking about and immediately decided I did not want to be having this conversation. I didn’t want to have it with Ron. I didn’t want to have it with Hermione. And I _definitely_ didn’t want to have it with a professor, _especially_ not with Professor Dumbledore.

            “Okay, I’ll leave him alone. I just barely realized I’m gay anyway. He’s probably not even my type. I will find someone gay to pursue. Thank you. I’m good. We’re good. Good. I’ll…um, yeah. Can I go now?” I asked.

            “Yes, in a moment. Please remember that Draco sees your fantasies. Even thinking about him like that, is hurting him,” Dumbledore said.

            I nodded and quickly excused myself, relieved that that was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure if Dumbledore’s explanation is spot on. Does it make sense that if Harry and Draco are meant to be, that Draco would continue to see the relationship that’s in their future, even when he doesn’t want it? And that the relationship between them is so negative that it turned the nature of the visions? Also, do you think it’s possible to see the exact same vision and interpret it as sex when you’re 10 and as rape when you are 11? Maybe with Harry on top and holding Draco down…if they are married and consenting, it could just be hot sex. But if they hate each other, Draco could read into the scene and assume that his future self is straining to get away. I’m still undecided on the exact nature of the rape visions Draco has had, so your feedback would be greatly appreciated!


	7. Chapter 7

            Normally I would go to Ron and Hermione first and tell them everything. But this was different. This was _sexual_ and I was so confused about what to make of it. Given how much I liked Draco, he probably had it right that I was gay. In Dumbledore’s office, it had been easier to go along with everyone telling me that I was gay, than to actually think about it. But I liked Cho too and that was very confusing. I needed time alone to think and sort my sexuality out for myself. I needed privacy, to see if I really liked men like that.

            I bypassed the Gryffindor common room and headed to the Room of Requirement, which provided me with a small, comfy room with a sofa in front of a warm fire. I sat and began to think, going over everything that had happened today.

            Eventually, I gave up and looked around the room. There was an end table nearby and on it were books. I picked one up and read the title: Everything the Young Wizard Needs to Know about being Gay. Maybe it would help clear up my confusion. I picked it up and read.

            It started off with a quiz on how to determine if one is gay. It was a photo quiz, with part of the body of a really hot bloke on one side and an equivalent photo of a good-looking chick on the other side. All I had to do was pick which picture in each row was hottest and then add up the score for each column. If I picked mostly chicks, I was straight. If I picked mostly blokes, I was gay. If I picked a mix in a certain range, I was something called Bi. I didn’t know what Bi was, but after taking the quiz, I fell into the Bi range.

            I continued to read and was directed to a chapter on bisexuals, which the book defined as someone who was attracted to both witches and wizards. There was another quiz here, to see what kind of bisexual I was. This one let me pick both pictures or none of the pictures in each column, then add up the score. Breasts were hot, so I checked them. The chiseled chest on the other side of the page was also hot, so I check it too. Erect penis- hot. Firm arse- hot. The stuff between a girl’s legs- hot. Feet- not hot, regardless of whether they were girl feet or boy feet. They were feet. Elbows and knees were also not hot, but pretty much everything else on both sides was hot. Maybe the wizards were slightly hotter than the witches, especially the tall lean blond one with the thick cock, but they were all hot.

            Just when I was beginning to get self-conscious about being a bisexual freak, the book informed me that all sexual orientations were good and valid, including mine. There was nothing wrong with liking witches and wizards. There was nothing wrong with loving everyone. Part of me wondered whether everyone would agree, or if the room of requirement had just provided me with this book, because it was what I wanted to hear. But the other part was more interested in reading the chapter on gay sex than wallowing in my insecurities.

            Gay sex looked hot. There were bubbly butts and thick cocks and thick cocks penetrating bubbly butts. Needless to say, I was hard by the second page. I looked at the pictures and stroked myself. Then I imagined myself in the pictures. I had been under the impression that my cock was average in size, but most of the cocks in this book were larger than mine. Some—the hottest ones—were quite a bit larger. The big ones were always the ones doing the penetrating. There were little ones too—ones much smaller than mine—and they were always associated with the bubbly butt being penetrated. The few penises that were about equal to me in size, belonged to wizards the book termed, “Bottoms,” and I began to wonder if I was a bottom too. I imagined myself in the role of a bottom.

            No sooner than I felt a desire to feel what bottoming felt like, then a number of items suddenly appeared, provided by the Room of Requirement. I went over and examined the new items, which turned out to be instructions on magical douching, sex toys, and lube. Magical douching was apparently something that needed to be done prior to anal sex, because it cleaned and stretched the canal. I practiced a few times and then preformed the douching spell on myself. It was an odd feeling; slightly uncomfortable, but not too bad.

            Then came the lube and the toy. The directions said to start small and work up to the bigger ones, but my eyes were drawn to the largest dildo. I wanted the big one. I lubed it up and tried to stick it in my arse…only to let out a scream of pain and have the thing slip out of my hand and away from my hole. It fell to the ground with a naughty sounding, “plop.”

            Okay, maybe I should start small. I picked up a skinny little dildo and tried that one. It hurt. A lot. But then I got it all the way in and I discovered the place the book called a, “prostate.”

            Prostate stimulation was brilliant! Why would anyone bother wanking without it? My cock lay abandoned as I experimented with the angle of the dildo and pursued the wonderful feeling that came every time it found my prostate. Once I perfected the angle, I closed my eyes and began imaging I was having sex with one of those guys in the photos. But the images of strangers in my head were very quickly replaced by images of Draco. I didn’t know what his cock looked like, so I imagined the large cock from that fit blond bloke on Draco’s body. It was very hot.

            My untouched cock started aching painfully, precum oozing everywhere, distracting me from my prostate prodding. Holding the dildo all the way in, so that it would maintain pressure on my prostate, I moved my other hand to my cock. One stroke and I was cumming, Draco’s name falling from my lips in my moment of pleasure.

            I had an, “Oh shit,” moment afterwards, when I came to my senses. I hadn’t meant to fantasize about Draco. What if he saw what I’d just been imagining? How would that make him feel? From what Dumbeldore said, I didn’t think it would be good.

            In that moment, I didn’t even care that I’d just confirmed to myself that I was very much attracted to men and interested in having sex with them, nor did I care that I was also attracted to women or what it might mean for me to be bisexual. All that mattered was Draco and whether I’d hurt him.

            I cleaned myself up, redressed, and pulled out my Marauder’s Map to check on Draco. He wasn’t in the Slytherin dorm, even though a glance at my watch told me it was late. I’d been in here too long. My friends were going to be worried about me. I needed to get back to Gryffindor tower before I was found out, but first, I had to find Draco.

            I finally found him on the fourth floor, in the loo located inside the infirmary.

            Wondering why Draco was in the infirmary this time and fearing that it was my fault, I pulled my trusty invisibility cloak out and set off to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though Harry was warned it would happen, he couldn’t help his fantasy, making Draco’s visions come true. 
> 
> It’s sixth year, which means Voldemort wants Dumbledore dead. I’ve already decided that Draco isn’t working on the cabinet and has given up on his task, in favor of changing the future. But, I can’t decide whether he made a few half arse attempts before giving up (i.e. cursing Katie Bell and poisoning Ron). And if he didn’t, does he have a replacement who does those things? I’m going to go with whatever the majority of you think, so please let me know!


	8. Chapter 8

            I snuck into the Hospital Wing under my invisibility cloak. There was an open bathroom door with Pomfrey visible inside it. I got closer and heard her whispering comforting words. I heard retching sounds. And then when I was right outside, close enough to the school nurse to reach out and touch her, I saw Draco. He was on his hands and knees, head bent over the toilet. He was vomiting.

            “It’s green,” Pomfrey said. “Green means bile. It burns as it comes up, doesn’t it? It means you need to eat something. I bet you didn’t have a thing since your mother’s soup and you threw that up on Potter. You’ll feel better if we can get some more soup into you.”

            Draco lifted his head from the bowl and said, “I never want to eat again. You wouldn’t either if you saw what Potter was doing to me.” Then he lowered his head and heaved again, but this time only a trickle came out.

            I felt really disgusted with myself. I had slipped and done the one thing he’d asked me not to do. He really was psychic and seeing my dirty thoughts and that was so upsetting for him that he was in the Hospital Wing, vomiting. I felt awful for doing this to him. As good as it was for me, it was that bad for him. Dumbledore was right: I had to learn to control my attraction towards him. I needed to find some other hot bloke to fantasize about. I had to stop this from happening again.

            I sat down on a chair near the bed that had Draco’s things piled on it. I put my invisible head in my invisible hands and told myself over and over that I wasn’t going to do this to him again.

            Madam Pomfrey led a no longer puking Draco to his hospital bed. Just as she was tucking him in, a tray with a bowl of soup appeared and she encouraged him to eat it. He took a few bites, before pushing it away. Then she gave him a dose of dreamless sleep and retired to her office.

            I waited until she was gone and then pulled off my invisibility cloak, stuffing it behind me on my chair.

            “Draco?” I asked, noticing that his eyes were already closed and hoping he wasn’t asleep yet.

            One eye fluttered open and then shut again.

            “Draco?” The one eye opened again and this time locked on me. “I know you’re sleepy, but I just wanted to apologize. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, I swear,” I promised.

            “I’m not that small. I don’t get hard, ever, but it’s not that small soft,” he said sounding really out of it, clearly fighting with Dreamless Sleep to stay awake.

            “You’ve never gotten hard?” I asked.

            “Not since I was eleven. It wasn’t even that small back then.”

            “I thought it was really big.”

            “You would, with that twig between your legs. I’m surprised you even count as a boy. Surely below a certain size they should just put you in dresses and call you a girl,” he teased sleepily.

            “I’m not all that small,” I countered.

            I don’t think he heard me. His eyes were closed again and he gave no sign of hearing me. Instead, his breathing evened out and his face relaxed. He looked oddly peaceful; a look I’d never seen his features form before. He was beautiful in his slumber and oddly endearing. I wanted to protect him.

            Not wanting to stay there looking like a pervert for watching him sleep, I pulled on my cloak and went back to my dorm. It was late enough that most students had gone to bed, but not Ron and Hermione; they were waiting for me by the fire.

            They jumped up and started pestering me with questions about where I was all night and what I’d been doing. I knew I had to tell them something, but I didn’t feel up to it yet. I tried to brush their questions off, but Hermione can be very much like a dog with a bone when she wants to be. Eventually I blurted out the discovery of my bisexuality.

            “Er, good. That’s good. Good talk. ‘Night,” Ron said and immediately took off towards the stairs.

            I was fine with that reaction, because it was late and I didn’t want to talk about it right now. I turned to follow after Ron, calling out my own, “Night,” to Hermione, as if Ron’s blathering was all the talk we needed.

            “Harry, wait,” Hermione said, clasping hold of my wrist and preventing my retreat. “We need to talk about this. I mean, you must need someone to talk to. Ron’s useless, but I want to be here for you. We can find somewhere a little more private and talk.” At the last, she looked around the room, observing the handful of students staying up late.

            “Um, sorry Hermione, but…I really just want to be alone right now. You understand, right?” I asked.

            She nodded. “It’s all very new for you, isn’t it?”

            “Yes!” I exclaimed, relief in my voice. “And it’s late.”

            “Okay, but just know that I’m here whenever you are ready to talk,” she said, engulfing me in a supportive hug.

            I patted her back, grateful she wasn’t going to push.

            Then I went to bed and tried not to think about Draco. Or his cock. He probably hadn’t meant to give me that sort of personal information, but he’d basically described his cock to me. It was bigger than the large one I’d imagined him with, meaning that it must be _huge_. But then on the other hand, he said in didn’t get hard. That seemed to me to be the complete opposite of huge. How could someone whose cock didn’t get hard, also have a huge cock? It was a contradiction. It didn’t make any sense at all.

            I fell asleep trying to picture Draco with different cocks. In my dreams, I imagined a really huge one and stuck that between his legs. Then I tried a little flaccid one. I tried to imagine a larger flaccid one, but I wasn’t creative enough. I could only think of the biggest flaccid one I’d ever seen, which wasn’t all that big. I was a grower, not a shower. I hadn’t done a study on flaccid cocks and the sex books the Room of Requirement provided me with mostly had pictures of hard cocks.

            And then I was asleep, dreaming of cocks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The votes were tied. I going to give the win to the side who said Draco should not have done anything towards his task, because one reviewer pointed out that if he could see the future, he should see that the necklace and the meade wouldn’t work and therefore not try it.
> 
> Please review!


	9. Chapter 9

            I woke up from a particularly pleasurable wet dream about riding Draco’s cock and was slammed headfirst into the unpleasantness of reality. Not only was I covered in cooling sticky jizz, but Draco spent the night in the Hospital Wing last night, because of my fantasies. If he saw this latest one, there is no telling how upset he’d be.

            But then I had a thought that relieved a _lot_ of the guilt and stress I was feeling: Pomfrey gave Draco Dreamless Sleep. He’d have been asleep all night without a single nightmare to wake him. Surely, he would’ve missed my fantasy. I was safe.

            With that in mind, I cleaned myself up and dressed for the day.

            There was no sign of Draco down in the Great Hall during breakfast. A look at my map confirmed he was still lying in a hospital bed up in the infirmary. But it was Saturday and he’d been up late, so I figured he was just having a lie in. He was in bed, not in the bathroom, which meant he wasn’t vomiting and was probably fine. I put away my map and let myself be distracted by my friends. Hermione wanted to talk about my big revelation, but Ron wanted to talk about Quidditch and the Apparition lesson that was schedule for tomorrow. I brushed Hermione off, by telling her that what I really needed was for everything to be normal again, which meant getting in some Quidditch practice with Ron and then doing some homework.

            I didn’t notice Draco’s absence again until dinner, when he still wasn’t in the Great Hall. A check to my map confirmed that he was still in the same bed in the Hospital Wing. I shoveled food into my mouth as fast as I could and took a chicken leg with me as I excused myself, in order to check on Draco.

            I slipped on my cloak and slipped into the Hospital Wing. Draco was there, sitting up in the bed, writing something on a piece of parchment. His owl was by his side, pecking at an owl treat on the sheet. I figured he was writing a letter. He looked fine, with no sign that he’d been crying or throwing up, which confirmed my hope that he hadn’t seen my dream.

            Feeling relieved, I let him be.

 

* * *

 

 

            The next morning, I was on my way to the Great Hall for breakfast, when Draco came out from where he’d been hiding behind a tapestry. He grabbed my wrist, saying only, “Come with me.”

            “Why? Where are we going?” I asked.

            “You will see when we get there,” he answered, leading me.

            “Look, I’m sorry about Friday. I know you were sick. If you remember, I snuck in to see if you were okay. You probably don’t remember. You were pretty out of it after Pomfrey gave you that potion,” I said.

            “I remember. I also remember the vision I had yesterday. Visions aren’t dreams, Potter,” Draco said.

            There was a clenching sensation in my gut. Not butterflies. More like my heart falling out of my chest. “You saw that?” I asked miserably.

            “Yes. Here we are,” he said, motioning to the door to Murtle’s loo.

            “No. This is where you said I kill you. Not uh. I’m not going in there with you. Not going to happen,” I protested.

            “It’s the only place where no one will walk in on us,” he reasoned.

            “Let’s go to somewhere where everyone will see, like the Great Hall. I can’t kill you in the Great Hall. There’ll be professors around. They’ll stop it,” I countered.

            “I’m not trying to fight with you here, Potter. I’m trying to show you why your fantasies don’t work. They can’t work. Once I show you, you’ll stop and then I can have some peace.” He paused, looking me up and down critically. “You really think any of those cocks were anything like mine? Come with me and I will show you what my cock really looks like.”

            I didn’t know what to say to that. I stammered out some nonsensical syllables. Then my mind fixated on the fact that he was about to show me his huge cock. I nodded my head and let him lead me into the loo.

            He put his back to the door, went for his belt buckle, and then looked up at me and said, “Back up, Potter. This isn’t a touching show. Keep your hands to yourself and your eyes five paces away at all times, or I will Crucio you and then you’ll kill me with your bare hands.”

            “Five paces? I am five paces. Look,” I flailed out my arms towards him to show that I was so far away that I couldn’t reach, and accidently touched him, because I was only two feet away. “Okay, maybe I’m a little close. Here.” I took one small step back. “There.” I repeated the flailing gesture and this time was far enough away that I didn’t touch him, but only just.

            He reached out his long arms, bending at the waist to extend his reach, and pushed on my chest. “Just back the fuck up, oh short-armed one,” he said. “If you want to see my cock, then get on the other side of the loo, by the sinks.”

            “All the way over there?” I asked, making it sound like his proposition was unfair.

            “Yes, or I won’t drop my pants.”

            “But my eye sight is terrible. I can’t see from back there!” I protested.

            “You have glasses. You can see fine,” he insisted, pointing over my shoulder at the sinks, where he wanted me to go.

            I sighed and went. “Fine, but if this doesn’t stop my fantasies, it’s because I’m too far away to see properly.”

            “I might believe that if I had a peanut between my legs like you, but I don’t. It’s big enough for even you to make out,” he said.

            Any other time, I might have noticed the insult, but not this moment. I was far too worked up about possibly seeing my first real cock.

            He took a deep breath and then _finally_ undid his belt. He lowered his trousers just to his thighs and then fished out his cock through the opening in the front. It was big. It was bigger than mine. It was bigger than the blond in the book. It was so big, that I knew I couldn’t get it up my virgin arse. So big, I was sure it was hard and he’d been lying about not being able to get an erection. Or maybe he was hard for me. A goofy smile lit up my face at that thought.

            “It’s completely soft, see,” he said, bending his shaft in half, then bending it the other way, completely contradicting my secret thoughts. Even soft, it was among the longest cocks from the book. “You can’t sit on it, because it’ll just…” He put pressure on the tip and the shaft buckled inward. “See. Doesn’t work. I’m not capable of sex. I don’t even have wet dreams.”

            “Everyone has wet dreams,” I blurted out, not thinking about what I was saying.

            “Not me. I don’t masturbate. I don’t have wet dreams. I don’t fantasize about having sex. I don’t ever want to have sex. I don’t even care if it’s with someone other than you, Potter, because I am just not interested in it. So now that you’ve seen it, will you please stop with the disgusting thoughts?” he asked, tucking his penis away, pulling up his trousers, and fastening his belt.

            I didn’t like the idea of him having sex with someone other than me. An image of it flashed into my mind unbidden. I pushed it away with an image of him naked in my arms. This time I pictured him with his actual cock: pale and flaccid, but still larger than any soft cock had a right to be. I had the sudden urge to comfort him and ran closer, to hug him. But when I got within arm’s length, he went into one of his visions. When he came out of it, it was with a, “Crucio!” on his lips.

            I dodged the curse instinctively, moving towards him. I didn’t mean to, but my actions were out of my control. I responded like he was anyone else trying to Crucio me. I hit him in the ribs. My momentary relief that I was not hitting him in the face or the wrist lasted less than a millisecond, because then my fist was connecting with his frail rib cage. His bones gave under my blow with a sickening crunch and a crackle. There was a moment when his wrist opened up and started gushing out blood and the black eye and swollen lip were worse than ever, but then the old injuries faded as quickly as they reappeared. The wrist slowed to a dribble of blood, the black eye reduced in size to the two inches in diameter it had been, and the lip looked almost normal.

            Draco let out a gasp of air, followed by a short scream, and then stood standing there with a look of pained shock. I caught him in my arms as he doubled over and started coughing up blood, a pained shriek with the in breath and then more coughing, like his airways were partially clogged with all of the blood he was choking on. Then he pulled a potion vial, of all things, out of his front pocket and did his best to swallow it. I recognized the liquid dribbling down his chin as Liquid Oxygen, a potion that eliminated the need to breathe for approximately fifteen minutes. If I hadn’t already been convinced of his psychic abilities, I would have been in that moment, when he was choking to death and just happened to have the cure within reach.

            “You’re going to be okay. I’m going to get help,” I told him, easing his body to the floor.

            The moment he was down on his back, his face started turning blue despite the potion, so I flipped him over and banged on his back until the blood started coming up again. He worked his knees underneath him and kept his head down, grunting in pain with each movement, but breathing better. Even with a potion like Liquid Oxygen in system, it was always better to breathe without it.

            I ran for help. Professor Sprout was the first adult I saw. Somehow in my panicked state, I alerted her to Draco’s serious injury in the loo.

            Sprout entered the loo, took one look at Draco coughing up blood, and announced, “It will have to be the Muggle hospital again. You didn’t curse him, did you, Mr. Potter?”

            “No, I only hit him. Not even that hard. I think his ribs are broken,” I answered. “He gave himself a Liquid Oxygen. Will that be a problem with Muggles?”

            “Liquid Oxygen? How ingenious. Shouldn’t be a problem,” Sprout said. Then she sent out a Patronus asking for help, conjured a stretcher, and levitated Draco, still kneeling, onto it. She maneuvered the stretcher out the door and down the hall. I followed after.

            We had just reached Sprout’s office when Snape came running up, saying, “I’ll take him. I know his medical history and which Muggle hospital he has been to before.”

            “Thank you, Severus. Use my office, please,” Sprout replied.

            Snape somehow managed to get Draco in his arms, while still keeping Draco’s head down, and turned on the spot.

            “Did he just apparate!?! No one can apparate inside of Hogwarts! No one!” I protested. I didn’t mean to shout, but so much was happening so fast.

            “Apparition practice is today, unless you’ve forgotten. The ward must have already been lowered,” Sprout replied, looking about as shocked as I felt.

            I stood there in silence, a myriad of thoughts running through my head. Was Draco going to be okay? Snape was getting him help, but of the non-magical kind. Could muggles heal whatever it was I’d done? That reminded me that Draco had trouble healing from the injuries I inflicted, especially magical healing, which was why they were going Muggle in the first place. What if the Muggle healing, which was already slow, was even slower? What if Draco’s bleeding thing came back? Merlin, his wrist had reopened, again, so of course his bleeding thing was back. He could very well bleed to death under Muggle care!

            “Mr. Potter, sit down. I will fetch Minerva,” Sprout said, nudging and motioning me towards one of the chairs by the desk.

            I sat. Sprout left and came back with McGonagall.

            “Are you sure you do not want to deal with him yourself, Pomona? You are the one who found him, after all,” McGonagall said.

            “He’s your student, not mine. I want nothing to do with this. He may have killed that boy. He ought to be expelled, but I can’t do it. You handle it, Minerva,” Sprout replied.

            “Come with me, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said.

            McGonagall led me to the Headmaster’s office, where I gave my account of what happened. I was rather vague on the reason Draco had dragged me into the loo, what we’d been doing inside it, and why he went off. I kept it to that he lured me into the loo and after a time, got mad at me and cast Crucio, which caused my instinctive reaction. The professors pressed for details and threatened my expulsion if I did not provide them. So, I eventually revealed that the topic of conversation was the sexual fantasies I was having that were disturbing Draco and that the thing that had set him off, was when his words had triggered me to have a bit of a day dream, which he then saw in a vision. I left out the whole bit about Draco showing me his cock. I absolutely was _not_ going to tell them that, even if it meant they were going to expel me.

            Satisfied somewhat by my account, the questioning stopped. McGonagall excused herself to go back to work, leaving me with just Professor Dumbledore.

            Once Dumbledore and I were alone in the room, he said, “I suppose this is why the Malfoy boy requested a special one-on-one session with the apparition instructor this morning and then missed the appointment completely.”

            “A special session?” I asked confused.

            “Private lessons. It’s rare, but some of the parents can afford private lessons and occasionally their children ask. Draco has months to go before his birthday, so I wasn’t sure why there was a rush, but now I think I know. He knew you were going to attack him this morning and that the floo would not get him help in time,” Dumbledore explained.

            “But if he knew, why didn’t he change things? Why did he still invite me into that loo? I refused to go with him at first, because I knew that was where he’d predicted his death!”

            The headmaster shrugged. “Who knows. Sometimes some things need to happen, to prevent a worse alternative.”

            “What worse alternative?”

            “You will have to ask Mr. Malfoy that, my boy. If the boy lives, that is.”

            “If he lives? When will we know anything? Shouldn’t we have heard back from Snape?” I asked frantically.

            “I will go check on the Malfoy boy. Stay put, Harry,” Dumbledore said.

            Then Dumbledore apparated away, leaving me to wait in his office forever.

            It was a very long time before Dumbledore came back. It felt like eternity went by while I waited. I felt like I might die if I had to keep waiting without knowing.

            “I have good news, Harry. Mr. Malfoy has been stabilized. The doctors have finished surgery. Draco is on a breathing machine and it will take a long time for his rib and lung to heal, but with any luck, he will make it and regain consciousness,” Dumbledore said.

            “He’s not bleeding too bad?” I asked.

            “He did lose a lot of blood, but Professor Snape added the blood replenishing potion to the IV bag the Muggles set up. It’s a curious gadget, the IV. Have you heard of it, Harry?”

            “Yes.”

            “Oh good. I’m not sure if I’m up to explaining it. But suffice it to say, he will not bleed out. They are even adding a substance to his blood that should help his blood to clot faster. Genius, really,” Dumbledore concluded.

            I nodded. “Good. Do you think the Muggle clotting thing will work?”

            Dumbledore shrugged. “Who knows? It may get around whatever the problem is, it may not. Regardless, it will be a long time before he will be able to come back to school.”

            “How long?” I asked, fearing the worst. If Draco had to repeat the year, I would never forgive myself.

            “I do not know. This has never happened before, Harry.”

            “Never?”

            “Not as far as I know. With any other student fight like that, Madam Pomfrey would be more than capable of sorting them out. But with you and Mr. Malfoy, things are different. I hope this convinces you of the urgency of what I said the other day. Of course, it would have been better if my words Friday could have done the trick…but alas, students never listen to their elders.”

            “Sir?” I asked.

            “Stay away from Draco Malfoy, Harry. I know how it feels, believe me, to be forced apart by circumstances from the wizard you love. He may even love you back. But, as long as you keep thinking of him as a sexual being, you are going to continue to cause him pain. We are both aware he spent the last two nights in the Hospital Wing, are we not?”

            I wasn’t sure how he knew I was there, but I nodded anyway.

            “Can you do that, Harry? Can you stop your fantasies of young Draco?”

            “I don’t know, sir. I tried, but it didn’t work.”

            “I find using a substitute can go a long way to keeping one’s thoughts off of what one cannot have. Have you considered dating anyone else?” Dumbledore asked.

            I shook my head. This was the last thing I wanted to think about right now. Draco might still die. I couldn’t start a relationship with someone else at a time like this. I didn’t want anyone else: I wanted Draco.

            That was a shocking thought. Not in my wildest dreams had I considered I would want Draco Malfoy. Even when I realized I was sexually attracted to him, I hadn’t thought of anything other than sex. Even when Dumbledore was telling me Draco was my soulmate, the implications hadn’t occurred to me.

            “I am aware of the difficulties with finding other homosexuals your age, but there is a young seventh year in Hufflepuff who might be available—” I cut him off there.

            “No thank you. Could I just get my punishment or something?” I asked, not wanting to discuss this topic.

            “I am going to let Professor Snape assign your punishment, Harry. In your case, I must admit to a fair bit of bias, so it would not be right for me to choose.”

            “Okay…When is Snape coming back, sir?” I asked, mostly because I thought he might have more to say on Draco’s condition and I was very worried.

            “He is staying with Malfoy until he is certain the child is out of danger. Defense classes will be canceled in the meantime.”

            “You mean he won’t be back today, sir?”

            “No, I’m afraid not. I spoke with the doctors myself. They were very clear that until the bleeding stops and Mr. Malfoy regains consciousness, his condition could take a turn for the worst at any moment,” Dumbledore revealed.

            I gasped in shock. I couldn’t help it, but I began to cry. Draco couldn’t die. Would the world even still turn without him in it? I tried to hide my tears by turning my face and to be as quiet as I could, but Dumbledore still knew.

            “Having to come to terms with taking a life is a serious matter, my boy. It is all the more important with the war quickly approaching. Each life matters, Harry. Think carefully before you act, my boy.”

            I nodded, still trying to stop my tears. “Can I go?”

            “You may. I will ask Minerva to arrange your detentions until Snape returns. Say six O’clock every night until then?”

            I agreed and left. Detention every night sucked, but I deserved it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot happened in this one. Please review and let me know what you think! Oh, and this will be the last of the violence in this story.


	10. Chapter10

            It was a week before Snape returned with news that Draco had stopped bleeding internally. It was two weeks before I got news that Draco had woken up. It was a month before he returned to school. And all that time, I had detention every single night, most of them with Snape. When Draco came back, my detentions were shifted to weekends only, the whole entire weekend, meaning I couldn’t play Quidditch. Oddly enough, I didn’t mind, because I was so fixated on Draco being back.

            It was weird seeing Draco at breakfast that first morning without his Slytherin friends. While Draco was away, Crabbe and Goyle had been expelled for attacking Dumbledore. Rumor was that one of them cast an Incarcerous, tying the Headmaster up, and then the other cast an Unforgiveable that didn’t take. The rumors varied about which Unforgiveable it was and why they did it. But the important thing was that I’d been wrong about Draco being up to something at the beginning of the year; it was Crabbe and Goyle who were up to something and now they were gone from the school.

            With Draco’s main two sidekicks gone, I would’ve thought the other Slytherins, like Zabini and Parkinson, would fill in on either side of him as his new sidekicks. But that didn’t happen. While Draco was away, Zabini and Parkinson started dating and they were still fawning all over each other when Draco returned. Nott, the loner of the group, made no effort to step into the vacancy. Sure there were students surrounding him for a first-hand account of what I’d done, but none of them were his usual gang. It made me feel sorry for him.

            Draco was still too thin, but not as bad as when his lip had been split. He looked like he grew too, taller than ever. His black eye was completely gone and his lip and wrist healed. Only the damage to the chest remained, resulting in him walking slowly and having difficulty breathing at times. The castle was too big for him to traverse, so he got special permission to ride his broom indoors to get from class to class. Straight after breakfast, he made an arse of himself, flying over our heads upside down and waving as he rode to our first class. When I reached the classroom, he was sitting on the ground, having a coughing fit and struggling to breathe; the professor almost took his arse to the Hospital Wing, but then Draco pulled out a vial of some potion that eased his breathing, which enabled him to get up and take his seat. His attention seeking behavior had not changed in the least.

            He was still hot, too. Hotter now that his face was healed and his clothes weren’t falling off him. I’d been trying so hard not to fantasize about him sexually. I mostly succeeded too, because every time my mind went where it shouldn’t, I just started thinking about the fact that he was stuck in a Muggle hospital because I had almost killed him. But then he came back and I spent the whole day hard, just from staring at him during our shared classes. Why did he have to pick almost all the same subjects as me to get NEWTs in?

            With his constant presence, I couldn’t help my mind from wandering where it shouldn’t, but I did manage to control the fantasies. I decided then that I was never, no matter what, going to have sex with him without getting his consent. I pictured it in my mind: pulling back when things started getting hot and heavy and asking if it was all right or if he wanted it. Focusing on that was enough to stop my fantasies from progressing, because I knew he’d answer in the negative. If he told me no, even if it was just in my imagination, I wasn’t going to force myself on him. It was sort of like taking a cold shower, but for my brain in the middle of class: it was enough to shock me back into reality and get me paying attention to class again.

 

* * *

 

 

            At the end of our last class of the day on Draco’s first day back, he waited for me to put my things away, while the rest of the class filed out.

            “I think he’s going to come over here. Don’t worry, I have my wand out,” Ron said.

            “Oh, put that thing away. Anything Malfoy does to Harry is well deserved,” Hermione replied, knocking Ron’s wand off its mark. She had been one of my biggest critics when she found out about the latest incident. She gave me a lecture and everything.

            “Er…could you two give us some time alone? I’ll meet you in the library,” I suggested.

            “Yes, let’s go, Ronald,” Hermione said, tugging Ron so that he would follow.

            Once I was alone, Draco approached and said, “I won’t be able to arrange an apparition lesson the next time. Would you mind helping with the potion? I’m getting tired of almost dying. It gets old, you know?”

            I nodded, because as it so happened, I did know. “Yeah, of course! And I’m not going to hurt you, ever again. And I’ve been trying not to think things you don’t like. And I’ll do anything you want to make it up to you. I’m really sorry. I mean that. Anything at all you need me to do, so that you can feel safe, I will do,” I rambled.

            “Help me with the potion and the ritual. That will be enough for now. I will collect more later when I feel up to it. I’m actually really tired and need to go lie down. Why is the Hospital Wing so far away?” he asked.

            “Here, let me walk you there. I’ll carry your bag,” I offered, taking his bookbag from him.

            He agreed and together we started walking.

            “Did you sleep all right last night?” I asked.

            “I slept fine. It was in the bloody Hospital Wing, because they don’t trust that I’m well enough to sleep without someone watching to make sure I don’t start coughing up blood, but it’s better than in Muggle hospital. Muggles are horrid healers. It’s all about pricking your veins with sewing needles and pumping bags of potions into your arm. I still don’t understand why I couldn’t just drink the potions. I mean, look at my hand,” he ordered, holding out his hand. It was covered in bruises of varying shades.

            “This is from their needles. And this,” here he pulled back the sleeve of his robes to reveal the crook of his elbow. It was the right elbow; not the left; not the one that I’d slashed and not the one I feared bore the Dark Mark. “Is from their needles too. This is where they take my blood out to do their tests. I still don’t understand the purpose of bleeding me to death for tests. Snape had to give me blood replenishing potion, to counter all the blood the Muggles took. I think they’re vampires and need all that blood to drink, the lot of them.”

            There was a pause in the conversation. He looked to me expectantly and I didn’t know what I should say. Needles suck, but Muggles aren’t vampires. Only a prejudiced pureblood would jump to that conclusion. On the other hand, he’d just gotten released from hospital after I almost killed him, so I should probably be nice to him.

            “That was a joke, Potter. You are supposed to laugh,” Draco said deadpanned.

            “Oh…” I said, not knowing what to say and relieved he didn’t mean it.

            “Never mind. What do you know about humor anyway? I’m too tired to go the rest of the way and I don’t feel like flying. It makes my ribs hurt,” he said stopping to sit on a bench.

            “It’s a long way to walk,” I agreed, letting his insult slide and sitting next to him.

            “They had me doing walks around the floor in hospital, to get my strength up. I walked around dragging a metal pole on wheels, which they had me connected to through tubes and needles. I saw all the backwards things they do to people. Instead of healing most things, they bandage them and let them heal on their own. That’s one of their go to moves. Then there’s the needles. Oh, and the throat hurting breathing tube; that one’s bloody awful. And do you know what the very worst is?” he asked.

            “No.”

            “They _actually_ cut people open. They call it surgery. They did it to me. They cut me open, messed around with my insides, and then stitched me back together, like a piece of cloth. Isn’t that just the most barbaric thing you’ve ever heard?”

            “They did surgery on you?” I asked concerned.

            He nodded.

            “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. You know that, don’t you? That I didn’t mean to?” I asked.

            “I don’t really care whether you meant it or not. It was awful and you owe me. I will let you know what it is I want, besides the potion and the ritual…you know what? I do know something you can get me, but you can’t tell anyone. Not your friends, not the teachers, not Dumbledore, and most definitely not Professor Snape.”

            “Anything. What is it?”

            “I like jewelry. Get me something with the Potter crest on it. A ring maybe,” he answered.

            “I don’t have anything with the Potter crest, but I’ll have something made for you...but um, er…why?” I asked.

            “No particular reason. I just like rings. Now come on, I need to do another flight or I’ll never get there,” he said getting up.

            I got up too and walked really slowly, so that I didn’t pass him. He didn’t talk at first, concentrating on his breathing and putting one foot in front of the other. I could tell he was in a lot of pain, but he kept going.

            “Is your rib still broken?” I asked when he paused at the midway landing of the stairs.

            “Shattered.”

            “Shattered?” I asked, horrified at what I’d done.

             Yes,” he said and resumed his strenuous steps up the stairs.

            “You know, I could carry you,” I suggested.

            “No,” he answered and kept going, but stopped as soon as we got to the next bench at the top of that flight.

            “It’s one more whole flight of stairs,” I observed, sitting next to him.

            “I hate you,” he replied.

            “I’m sorry,” I said.

            “Tell Pomfrey to come get me. I can’t make it the rest of the way. My chest hurts too much and my legs are cramping from all this walking and stair climbing,” he said.

            I nodded and went.

            Madam Pomfrey came down with a stretcher, which Draco got onto, before she levitated it back up. I followed, setting his school bag down on the table beside his bed. He had the whole back section of the infirmary to himself, cordoned off with curtains. It looked like a nice set up.

            “You might need to brew the potion for me, Potter. I’m too sore and tired,” Draco said, lying down on his bed and closing his eyes.

            I reached over and helped pull up his blankets, tucking him in. “Oh course. Do you want me to start right now, while you rest?” I asked.

            He nodded. “Don’t tell your friends or let them see the book. Promise me that.”

            “I promise,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure why he was keeping this a secret. I could understand it though, because I didn’t want my friends to know I was making a potion with my sperm in it either.

            “It’s the blue book in that stack,” he said, motioning towards a large stack of books piled on the other side of his bed. I got up and went over. “I found a better potion. It’s very similar to the last, except broader. It covers more.”

            “Does it make the injuries less?” I asked, pulling the blue book from the stack. There was a bookmark sticking out, marking the page of a powerful shielding potion.

            “Only the lethal injuries, but yes,” he answered.

            “But the other one did that too,” I protested, skimming the ingredients. This one also required sperm. I didn’t see a difference.

            “The other one only protected me from one person. This one protects me from everyone.”

            “Do you need…” I waved my hand around, unable to say the word semen out loud, “from everyone?”

            “No, just from you. That’s what makes it so powerful,” he answered.

            I nodded. With the war brewing, a boarder protection ritual was a good thing. All sorts of people might attack him and his health was too fragile to allow that. And if Voldemort ever found out that I was developing feelings for Draco, then a protection like this would be very necessary. I wanted him to be protected and I didn’t see any reason to question his decision to change potions.

            “Ask Pomfrey for a pain potion,” he requested. “Even the Muggles provided pain potion.”

            I did. He looked ready to fall asleep almost the instant Pomfrey gave him the pain potion. He looked so peaceful and beautiful.

            I tucked the blue book under my arm and left, determined to make the potion to keep him safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? I’m not sure if I got Draco’s return just right. It’s a major turning point in their relationship.  
> Please Review!


	11. Chapter11

            I didn’t start making the potion immediately. Instead I studied it, practically memorizing it. I wanted to know everything there was to know about how it worked too; I would’ve written a Snape-style essay on it, if I could. But the description of function was, “Shielding Potion” with a footnote saying to look in the companion book for further details. I didn’t have the companion book, so I stuck with memorizing the directions. I only had one chance to get it right and there would be no professor to check it. Draco would be the test subject and he was already in poor enough health that I hated to think what would happen if I made the potion wrong. So I went over it again and again, looking up each and every term, reviewing every difficult technique involved.

            “Have you started brewing yet?” Draco asked three days later.

            He was sitting on a bench, catching his breath. I’d seen him there and stopped to keep him company.

            “No.” He looked at me pointedly, so I explained, “I’m studying it first. I want to make sure I have everything just right so that it comes out perfect.

            He nodded.

            “Why aren’t any of your friends with you? I mean, I know Crabbe and Goyle got expelled and Parkinson and Zabini are dating, but what about the rest of Slytherin house?” I asked.

            “Who exactly do you think is left in my house? Milli and Theo are as boring as it gets. Tracey dropped out. And Daphne is so superficial, she makes me look deep. If I have to listen to her talk about her hair one more time…I love my hair, but she takes it too far…” he trailed off, hand self-consciously rising to his own overly-styled hair. “Anyway, I was more upset about Smith brushing me off.”

            “Zacharias Smith? But he’s in Hufflepuff,” I objected.

            “He’s also my second cousin on my dad’s side. We grew up playing together, but he values strength too much to be seen with me,” he explained.

            “In Gryffindor, we’d rally around someone who was injured.”

            “I don’t want to hear about bloody house politics. Keep it to yourself, if you would,” he replied snidely.

            I nodded.

            “I could help brew it. We could do it together. I’ll know if it’s right,” he said.

            “That’d be great!” Not only was he offering me help, but it would also give me the chance to spend time with him and get to know him better. Hermione had a hypothesis that the reason Draco and I didn’t get along, was because we didn’t know each other. He was a Slytherin and a Malfoy, which were abstract concepts. I needed to turn him into Draco, the person, and make him my friend. I wasn’t going to tell her that I already thought of him as a person, because it gave me the perfect excuse to get to know him. And now that I was convinced he was my soulmate, I desperately wanted to get to know him. Even if we couldn’t have a sexual relationship, I still craved his presence in my life. At the very least, I needed us to be friends.

            “I was going to start this weekend. Saturday morning work for you?” he asked.

            “No. Um, I have detention weekends.”

            “What did you do now, Potter?” he drawled.

            “Er, it’s still from almost killing you. They let Snape choose my punishment. It was detention every evening while you were in hospital. Now it’s weekends for the rest of the school year.”

            He frowned in concentration, clearly thinking about it. I waited in silence for what he was going to say, but then he ended up nodding to himself and changing the topic, “Once you do the extraction, be sure to freeze the specimen and keep it on ice. The potion says one unit, but double it, just in case. You know, if you spill or something, we don’t want to have to start over.”

            “Okay,” I agreed.

            “That goes for everything. Make a double batch. I have enough ingredients for two.” There was a pause, before he added, “We’ll have to brew weeknights. After my nap. Myrtle’s bathroom should work. How’s 7pm for you?”

            “It’s fine, but what about curfew?” I asked.

            “You have an invisibility cloak: you’re immune to curfew.”

            “And you?”

            “Have special permission to be out late, because I’m a prefect,” he answered, even though he hadn’t been doing any of his prefect duties all year.

            I nodded.

            “We’ll start Monday night.” With the plan set, he stood up and said, “Here, you can carry my things. I’m heading to Ancient Runes.”

            “Hermione has that. It’s not for another twenty minutes,” I protested, but grabbed up his bookbag just the same.

            “I like to rest before it starts,” he informed me.

            I walked him to class, stopping to sit whenever he needed to.

            After I dropped him off in the correct classroom, I went to the Room of Requirement to collect semen for the potion. I tried not to think about Draco while I did it. I tried using dirty magazines that the room provided, but imagining those wizards made the process take forever. I used to be able to jerk one off in five minutes, but not today. As I grew closer to the edge, I accidentally started thinking about Draco. Nothing too imaginative; just him standing there with his giant flaccid cock out, touching himself. I came into a collection vial, Draco’s name on my lips.

            I corked the vial and looked at it. It was enough for one dose of the potion, but Draco had asked for double. I cast a long-term freezing charm on what I had and decided I would wait until tomorrow to collect the rest.

            I showered. Then I hid my specimen in the deepest recesses of my school trunk and protected said trunk with every ward I knew. Finally, I went down to the common room with my homework. That’s where I was when Hermione came in and found me.

            “Harry! I thought you’d want to know: Malfoy started vomiting during Ancient Runes. He’s been taken to the Hospital Wing.”

            I could feel my face flaming up in shame. Draco had seen what I did.

            “Well, aren’t you going to say something, Harry? I thought you cared about him now or something,” Hermione continued.

            “Er…Um, I do care. It’s just…” I trailed off.

            “You did something, didn’t you?”

            I sighed. “All right, yes, I did something. But it had to be done and I have to do it again.”

            “Why?”

            “He asked me not to talk about it with you and Ron. It’s just a little protection charm I’m working on. It’s supposed to keep him safe from me. That’s all you need to know, honest,” I answered, worried she wouldn’t let it drop. What if she decided to grill me for more details?

            “You have to make amends for almost killing him,” she said nodding.

            I sighed in relief. “Yes! Thank you for understanding, Hermione,” I said, giving her a hug.

            “The protection charm is hurting him…” she trailed off, implying something.

            I thought for a minute, trying to figure out what to do about it. Finally, I realized that there was nothing I could do, except buy him that ring he wanted. “I want to get him something to make this up to him. Jewelry. But I can’t go in to Hogsmeade this weekend or any weekend with my detentions. Could you go to that jewelry store for me and ask for a mail order form?”

            “Yes, but is jewelry the right way to go, Harry? He may think you are pursuing him, you know, like boyfriends. And you know how uncomfortable he is with that,” she replied. She’d wheedled so much information out of me during the past month. She now knew almost everything; it was only the most private details she didn’t yet know.

            “No, it’ll be fine. He’s rich. They give jewelry to everyone,” I reasoned. I doubted my own reasoning though, because of the type of ring he’d requested: one with the Potter crest. Why would he want to go around wearing my crest on his finger? Did he want more from me than he was ready for? I felt a tingle in between my legs at the thought. Then I brushed the idea away, because Hermione was staring at me and because it could very well be nothing more than Draco feeling the soulmate connection. Even if we could never be together, we would always feel the draw of the other and he probably just wanted something to remember me by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next, they will start working on the potion. Please Review!


	12. Chapter12

            Hermione brought back a mail order form from the jewelry store in Hogsmeade, just like I asked. I filled in out right away, specifying a ring with the Potter crest. I didn’t know Draco’s size, so I measured my pinky finger and wrote that down on the form. I sent it in that same day, feeling extremely guilty, because Draco had been taken to the Hospital Wing on Friday too, after he started vomiting in the library during free period. That was my fault, because I spent that free period extracting the rest of the semen required for the potion.

            Monday evening, I got to the loo early and started setting up. Just after seven, he came in yawning and rubbing his eyes.

            “Do you want to check over my preparations?” I asked, indicating the cauldron.

            “I guess. Do you want to check over my ingredients?” he asked in return, holding out a cloth bag. He looked to be in a bad mood.

            I agreed and started taking out the ingredients he’d brought. He went to the supplies I’d set up. Once we verified each other’s work, we began to chop.

            While we chopped, I asked, “How was your weekend?” because I’d been under the impression that he spent part of it with his mother and seeing her normally cheered him up. I was hoping reminding him of what a great time he must’ve had would get him out of this funk he was in tonight.

            He sighed heavily and answered, “Horrible.”

            “Horrible?” I asked surprised. “Didn’t you see your mum this weekend?”

            “I thought that was the plan for Saturday. But noooo, when I flooed home, my mother had a surprise for me.”

            “What sort of surprise?” I asked.

            “The horrible sort. My Muggle mind-doctor was there waiting for me in the Muggle entrance. When I left hospital, he said he wanted to keep seeing me, but here I was thinking I would be safe in Scotland. But no, my mother just had to listen and arrange for me to come home at the exact time that the Muggle was there,” he answered, sounding more annoyed than ever.

            “Your Muggle mind-doctor?” I asked, guessing it was some sort of therapist.

            “He’s like a mind-healer, but for Muggles. He was already assigned to me before I regained consciousness. I made the mistake of telling him a little about what is going on and haven’t been able to get rid of him since.”

            “Is he the sort of doctor who is always asking how you’re feeling?”

            “ _Yes_!” he exclaimed. “He’s soooo incredibly nosey. It’s bloody annoying. It’s sorta my fault though, because at first I was excited to have someone to talk to that was actually listening; someone who believed me. But then I blabbed too much and now I can’t get rid of him.”

            “Listening about what?” I asked. He had the perfect life, didn’t he? What did he have to complain about? And even if he did have a real problem, his parents doted on him. Surely his mother would listen.

            Draco sighed heavily. “You should probably know that the Muggles already knew I was having problems with you, from when they had to sew up my wrist. When I came back with a poorly healing black eye, a shattered rib, and a punctured lung, they jumped straight to you as the culprit. They aren’t as dumb as I was led to believe.

            I nodded. “Well? What did they have to say about it?” I asked. I knew it looked bad, but surely it didn’t look _that_ bad.

            “At first he was all sympathetic and understanding. Harry Potter is a complete tosser and all. It’s hard to find someone willing to admit that you’re awful.”

            “Er…okay…”

            “Yeah, so I told this bloke some of the awful things you’ve done to me and next thing I know, he’s telling me you raped me! All these years, I’ve been telling anyone who will listen that you’re gonna rape me and this guy, I didn’t even have to spell it out for. I just told him how I remember things happening and he says that because I was eleven, and only just, that I wasn’t old enough to consent to sex. Therefore, when you sat on me, you raped me and it doesn’t even matter that you were barely eleven too.”

            “You let a Muggle think we had actual sex when we were eleven?” I asked incredulously.

            “Yes, during the summer before school. We met in London and then we had sex before school started. I told him that I didn’t try to stop you and that it felt good the first few times, but he said that didn’t really matter. You still initiated it, so you had to get my consent and I wasn’t old enough to give it. And once school started and you were being mean to me all the time and I tried to stop the sex, then you were even more awful. That was forcible rape or something,” he answered.

            “And the fact that it didn’t actually _happen_?” I bit out angrily.

            He waved my argument away and said, “I can’t tell a Muggle that I saw it in a psychic vision! Are you crazy? That’s against the International Statute of Secrecy!” he exclaimed.

            I sighed in exasperation and protested, “But it didn’t happen!”

            “It did to me!” he shouted back.

            I took several deep breaths to calm myself. Maybe he had a point. As far as I was concerned, I’d never raped anybody and only recently became aware of the situation. But to him, things might seem very different. “Do you really feel that you were raped by your visions?” I eventually asked.

            “Yes,” he answered sharply, like he was preparing for an argument.

            I sighed again. “Fine. I’m sorry. I’m not going to admit blame, because I didn’t actually do anything wrong, but I’m sorry that you had to experience that. I’ve tried to stop thinking of you like that. I did my best; but…um…it’s hard.”

            “The last week wasn’t as bad. They haven’t been so violent for months now—not since my wrist—and I’ve gotten used to it. But that’s part of the problem, according to my mind-doctor. He thinks getting used to it is the worst thing I can do. He says I need to break things off with you. You’re a violent, sadistic, rapist and the best thing for me is to terminate the relationship.”

            Since his wrist? That was well before I’d even started fantasizing about him. That was before I decided that I would only have sex with him, if he gave verbal consent. That was back when I began to realize he was sick and delicate and that I needed to treat him more like a girl. Had just that one decision to be more careful about trying not to hurt him stopped the violence? I hoped so, but I wasn’t going to change my mind about asking for consent first.

            “What relationship?” I asked. We weren’t together. I wouldn’t mind being with him, but I did mind him breaking up with me before we even get together.

            “He thinks we’re in a romantic relationship and this is a case of domestic violence. I tried to tell him that that’s not how things are, but he didn’t believe me. He thinks I’m covering for you or something.”

            “Is that where you got the idea for using that other book from?” I asked, suddenly putting the two together.

            He nodded. “That’s the one thing that sort of makes me think that he’s right, because those anti-domestic violence spells worked.”

            “Which anti-domestic violence spells worked? We never made the potion from that book or performed the ritual to go with it,” I pressed.

            “Um…Never mind. I’ve finished chopping these. If you want to pass me the ones you’ve chopped, we can put them all together,” he said, changing the subject. “We’ll have to use stasis charms until we have all the ingredients ready to start.”

            “No, I don’t want to pass you anything. I want you to tell me what spell you used from that book!” I demanded.

            “It’s none of your business!”

            “It is my business, if you used it on me!” I protested.

            “I only used the spells on me, to protect me from you!” he insisted.

            “What sort of spells?”

            “Ones to make you realize what a monster you are!” he shouted.

            “How do they do that?” I asked.

            “They just make the person attacking me realize they are hurting me. That’s all! If you wouldn’t attack me in the first place, then there would be nothing for the spell to work on!”

            I sighed, giving in. It was only this year that I realized I was hurting him during our fights. I’d thought I came to that realization on my own and didn’t like the idea that it had taken an anti-domestic violence charm to see what was right in front of my eyes. Would I have realized I was hurting him without his spell? I wanted to believe the answer was yes, but now there was no way of knowing.

             We were silent for several minutes in which I passed over my portion of the chopped ingredient and he put a stasis charm on it and stored it away for later. Then he pulled out the next ingredient and we got to dicing.

            “You didn’t tell that Muggle doctor of yours my name, did you?” I eventually asked.

            “As a matter of fact, I did tell him. I didn’t see the harm in telling a Muggle. It’s not like he knows who you are,” he answered.

            “Draco! I _live_ with Muggles! I’m in their system. This is just great. Now my aunt and uncle are probably going to get a visit from the police about a rape that hasn’t even happened yet!”

            “What are the poll-lease?” he asked, backing away instinctively with a scared look on his face. It was the look of someone who was afraid that they were about to be attacked.

            “Muggle Aurors. Look, I’m sorry if I scared you. I’m not going to hurt you,” I said, slowly reaching a hand out to grasp his. “I don’t care that much what my aunt and uncle think; it just might cause me problems.”

            He looked at me with wide, wet, eyes. He pulled his hand away, but nodded, and went back to dicing.

            “Are you okay?” I asked.

            His breathing became quick and ragged and then he was sobbing. “No. Finish it yourself. I’m going back to the Hospital Wing. You were the one who wanted to know how my weekend was. Next time, if you don’t want to know, don’t ask!” he shouted, packing up his things.

            I wanted to shout back something about how his weekend couldn’t possibly have been worse than mine, since I had spent mine with Snape. But my retort got caught in my throat, as I observed a tear falling down his cheek. Instead I softly asked, “Will I see you tomorrow?”

            He nodded and left.

            I finished up the dicing and put that ingredient under a stasis charm too. It was late by then, so I packed everything up, hiding it all behind a Notice-Me-Not spell in the corner of the far stall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few reviewers have mentioned/asked about soulmate magic. The reason Harry doesn’t look into it and Hermione doesn’t explain it, is because it doesn’t exist. It’s nothing more than a case of a meddling old man putting ideas into Harry’s head, leading to Harry thinking his crush is his soulmate. I know there are great stories where it’s a real thing, but in this one, it’s purely superstitious.  
> Please Review!


	13. Chapter13

            We met again the next night and picked up where I left off with preparing the ingredients. We worked in silence at first, the discord from Monday night creating palpable tension between us. Draco wouldn’t break the silence and he barely glanced at me, avoiding eye contact completely. I couldn’t go on like this forever.

            An hour in, I asked, “So what was so bad about your visit with your therapist? I thought you said you liked the guy, because he took your side.”

            “Therry-pest? Is that what the Muggles call mind-healers?” he asked.

            “Yes. What did he say that made you in such a foul mood?”

            Draco sighed. “The same old shite. You’re an abuser and I need to stay away from you. He’s decided that we’re dating, even though I told him it’s not like that. He keeps insisting that it is like that, at least for you. I told him about the stalking and he knows you beat me up all the time. He thinks you’re probably messing with my wrist too, to make it open up and bleed again and that I’m lying for you. I can’t tell him it’s magic. I don’t know how to explain that it’s not like that, Potter.”

            I groaned, remembering there was a Muggle out there that thought I was a monster. It was only a matter of time before my aunt and uncle were contacted. “Have you tried telling him what a—” I cut myself off midsentence, just in time. He was seriously injured and would remain that way for months. I couldn’t insult him, because that would upset him, even if it was the truth.

            “I tried telling him that it’s not your fault you’re an arse. Your parents were murdered in front of you and then you were raised by people you yourself have described as, and I’m going to quote here, so you can’t accuse me of being prejudiced against Muggles, ‘awful.’ And then first thing when you arrived at school you fell in with the wrong crowd,” he replied.

            “The wrong crowd? The Weasleys?” I asked incredulously.

            “Yes. Exactly,” he confirmed. “I was just trying to help you that first day here, but no, you wouldn’t listen to me. Instead you became just like them.”

            I waved this nonsense away and concentrated on squeezing the juice out of the current ingredient.

            “But my mind-doctor, he just took that as further proof that you’re a psychopath. People being killed in front of you: bad sign. More people being killed in front of you: bad sign. Being raised by awful people: bad sign. And falling in with the wrong crowd was just one more sign of a budding psychopath. Your violent tendencies and assaults on me just confirm it.”

            “And you didn’t bother mentioning that you provoked my attacks or that the injuries you received from them were worse because of your bleeding problem and that I didn’t even punch you that hard?”

            “I didn’t provoke you. You always started it. I just egged you on, so I wouldn’t look bad in front of my house. But the Muggle said that’s not my fault. It doesn’t matter what I do, because you are still going to find some excuse to take your frustrations out on me. He knows about my problem clotting—that’s what the Muggles call it—because he’s one of my doctors. And for the record, that punch was the hardest one you’ve ever thrown at me, like you had super magical strength or some shite. You didn’t just break one of my ribs, you _shattered_ the one into multiple pieces. The Muggles put a metal plate in my chest and screwed the bone fragments to the plate. And the rib above it, you broke in two pieces. I’ll prove it, if you don’t believe me,” he said, removing his shirt.

            I let him, because I wanted to see what I had done. I probably shouldn’t have, because it meant seeing his naked chest, but that didn’t occur to me. I felt so disgusted with myself for doing this to him that I didn’t even think about how hot he was.

            “Shouldn’t you have a cast or something?” I asked.

            “Cast? Like the Muggles put on arms and legs?” he asked in return.

            I nodded. “Yes. Muggles normally put casts on broken bones.”

            He shook his head. “They can’t with the ribs. They were all worried about bandaging the area at all, because they said it causes pneumonia. That’s why they had to use a rib plate. The Muggles say it can take months for bones to heal and six month or more if the bone is shattered, like this one.” He traced a feint curved line that stuck out minutely from his thin chest. “The metal plate is supposed to make it heal faster. It sticks out and looks ugly, but it got me out of hospital. My rib is basically intact up until the plate, then the whole area where your fist hit is broken like six times. Then the rib is fine again on the other side.” Then he pointed to a nasty looking scar under the plate that paralleled it. “This is where they did their surgery. They sliced my chest open to put in the plate and screwed all the bone bits to it and also to get at my lungs. I don’t understand it, but they found where I was bleeding from, and burned the wound, to make it stop bleeding. Did you know burning can stop bleeding?” he asked.

            I shook my head, horrified at what I’d done to him.

            “They couldn’t burn the inside of my lungs. That had to heal on its own. But they stopped a lot of the bleeding with their burning wand. I don’t remember that or the other things they did to fix my lungs, because I passed out during transport, when my lung collapsed.”

            “Your lung collapsed?”

            He nodded and continued, “From all the blood or from being punctured or something. And this rib up here,” he pointed to the rib above the one with the plate, “that one just broke in one place. It was in two nice big pieces, so they pieced it together and expect that it will grow back together and fix itself. As long as it doesn’t get jostled out of place, they said, it should heal.”

            I stared at him in horror. I was a monster. I’d almost killed him and the lengths that the Muggles had gone through to save him were barbaric. And if he hadn’t arranged that private Apparition lesson that morning, Snape never would have gotten him help in time, especially so if his lungs collapsed during Apparition. No wonder the Liquid Oxygen potion was not enough on its own to keep him alive. Draco and Snape were the only reasons I was not already a murderer twice over.

            “So you did hit me that hard. Admit it,” he challenged.

            “What?” I asked, temporally forgetting what we’d been talking about, too focused on what a monster I was.

            “You said you didn’t hit me that hard, but you did. I want you to admit out loud what you did. Or are you too much of a coward to admit you did this, Potter?”

            I shook my head to get my brain to start working again. “Yes, fine, I hit you too hard. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to hit you at all. But don’t you think there is something wrong with your bones, for shattering like that from only one punch?”

            “The Muggles said there is nothing wrong with my bones. They have all sorts of tests for that. My clotting time, yes, that’s well out of normal range, but my bones are healthy. Except for the two ribs, which is entirely your fault, Potter.” As he spoke, he redressed.

            I sighed in defeat. “I’m sorry.”

            “You give all the appearances of being a puny little weakling, Potter, but you’re not.”

            I nodded, admitting my guilt. I was stronger than I thought. There was no point of turning the tables on him and calling him a weakling, even if he was, because that would just lead to a fight and that was the last thing I wanted. I wanted to be his friend and I’d hurt him. I needed to be the bigger man and take responsibility for what I did. That’s why I was here, wasn’t it? I was trying to protect him, by brewing this shielding potion.

            “I won’t do it again,” I promised.

            “Well that’s what this potion is for,” he replied.

            We worked in silence. There was nothing but the sound of juice squirting out of pods as we juiced them.

            After a while, he spoke again, “My mind-doctor wants me to stay away from you. I told him you offered to help me with a school project, but he said that’s what they all do: play nice to make up for what you did, but then turn around and do it again.”

            “I won’t,” I insisted. “Not now that I know what I did. I wouldn’t hurt you on purpose, you know that, right?”

            He nodded. “I won’t let you either. I’m not coming back next year. I’m going into hiding with my mother. I’m not up to taking my father’s place in this war,” he admitted.

            “I’m glad,” I said smiling.

            I reached a hand over to his and squeezed. He looked up at me, meeting my gaze for the first time that night, and offered the smallest of smiles in return.

            “Your turn to talk,” he announced.

            “About what?” I asked.

            “What did I miss while I was away? What happened with Vince and Greg?” he asked.

            Away. That was a nice way to put it. Nearly dying in hospital, in a coma for part of it, after pulling through surgery.

            “Um…” I trailed off as I turned my thoughts to what had happened in his absence. “Oh! Your friends attacked Dumbledore and got expelled! Didn’t anyone tell you about it?”

            He shrugged. “They told me about as much as you just did. But it doesn’t make sense, because neither would’ve done something like that on their own. Their followers, not leaders. Someone had to put them up to it.”

            “Who?” I asked eagerly.

            “That’s what I’m asking you,” he said, sounding exasperated. “I wasn’t here. Who were they hanging out with?”

            I wracked my brain for memories of Crabbe and Goyle from the appropriate period. “I don’t know…They were just with your housemates, when they weren’t with their girlfriends.”

            “What girlfriends?”

            I shrugged. “Slytherin twins, possibly fifth years, dark hair…I don’t know their names.”

            “The Carrow twins!” he exclaimed.

            “I don’t know. Do you think they had something to do with the attack?” I asked.

            “They must have. Who else could it be?” he asked.

            “I don’t know,” I answered. “Who are the Carrow twins? Why would they want to hurt the Headmaster?”

            “Death Eater children, like me. The whole Carrow family are devout followers. Flora and Hestia are cruel and sadistic, and that’s coming from me. Budding psychopaths, they are. I think they’re trying to earn their Marks.”

            There were several minutes of silence as we worked on our potion and I tried to figure out what to do about this new information. The Carrow twins, scrawny little fifth years that they were, were trying to become Death Eaters. I’d have to take it to Dumbledore. My mind raced with implications.

            When Draco spoke again, it was about schoolwork. He’d done some of the reading and essays while he was in hospital, but he’d still missed a lot, especially in the subjects that were more hands-on. He thus had a lot of make-up work to do and was struggling to keep up in most of his subjects. I let him rattle on, allowing him to change the subject. This was my war, not his. He wasn’t in any condition to help me do something about the Carrow twins. It was enough that he’d alerted me to the danger.

            When we finished for the night, I went straight to the Headmaster’s office, even though I might get in trouble for being out so late and Dumbledore was probably asleep. But I thought the information was critical, so I went.

            Dumbledore was in his nightclothes, with a robe over them. “Did you get the memory?” he asked.

            That was what I was supposed to be working on. He’d assigned me to get a memory from Slughorn not long after Draco’s injury. I’d worked on it as best I could at first, but then Slughorn started avoiding me and I didn’t know what else to do. I was out of ideas.

            “No, but I have information on who was behind Crabbe and Goyle’s attack on you,” I answered.

            “Voldemort was behind it. He put those two boys up to it. I am already fully aware of the situation, Harry. What I need from you, is that memory. It’s crucial,” he replied.

            “But Draco thinks the Carrow twins were involved!” I protested.

            “Harry, I questioned Mr. Crabbe and Mr. Goyle with Veritaserum. I am already aware of the involvement level of the Carrow sisters. I’ve set Professor Snape to watch them. You, I set to obtain a very important memory.”

            “But if they were involved, why haven’t they been expelled? They could hurt someone!”

            Dumbledore sighed wearily and shook his head. “That is for me to worry about. You are to focus on your task,” he insisted, giving me no more.

            I pressed him one more time, but he insisted he was handling it and wanted to know what I was doing in terms of attaining the memory. I hadn’t come up with any ideas since the last time we spoke, which clearly disappointed him. He dismissed me, ordering me to bed. I went, but decided I would try to keep an eye out for the Carrow twins. Maybe I could catch them in action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please Review!


	14. Chapter 14

            We met every night that week and the weeks to come. Sometimes we left the cauldron to boil while we were away, because the potion called for it. Then I’d sneak in at the exact right time to stop it. Other times, we’d leave it under a stasis charm until we returned, doing our best to follow the directions exactly.

            It took us near a month. In all that time, we became friendly. We made small talk and got to know each other better. We bonded over our mutual distrust of the Carrow twins; he because they had gotten his lackeys expelled and me because I feared for the Headmaster. I did my best to suppress my sexual urges towards him; it seemed to work and that went a long way towards decreasing the tension between us. I even got the nerve to ask him about what he’d been up to in Diagon Alley during the summer.

            “I…I purchased the cabinet, actually. But it doesn’t matter, because it’s broken and I didn’t bother fixing it. I really don’t care about that anymore. For a long time now, I’ve had a different plan,” he admitted.

            “Which is?” I asked, still unclear what he’d want with a cabinet, broken or not. Out of all of the dangerous things in that store, what would he possibly want with a cabinet? Maybe he was much worse at this than I’d given him credit for.

            “Finish this potion, do the ritual, and go into hiding with my mother. The whole point of the cabinet was to try to get my father out of Azkaban, but I’ve given that up as a bad job. He got us into this mess; he can get himself out of prison. Everyone else and their evil aunt seems to be able to escape whenever they want.”

            I giggled at the evil aunt bit. He laughed too and my laughter turned into all out guffaws. He was funny and it was good to know that he hated Bellatrix too. He stifled his laughter with a grunt of pain, grabbing his chest; he was getting better, walking longer and taking the stairs without rest, but occasionally his chest still hurt. I cut my laughter short as I took in his pain. It wasn’t fair that he was still hurt. By all rights, Pomfrey should’ve been able to heal his ribs in a heartbeat. He shouldn’t be suffering months afterwards.

            When our laughter finally stopped, I asked one more probing question, “So you’re not…?”

            “Not what?” he prodded.

            “A…a Death Eater?” I finished.

            “Oh. That.”

            Then he pulled up his left sleeve, revealing first a wrist with a horrible looking scar slashed across, little lines crossing back and forth perpendicular to the scar, where the stitches had been. There were the most stitch marks directly over the blue vein that ran down the center. Then he pulled his sleeve further up and revealed…a black blob, about the size of a snitch.

            “He tried to mark me and told me I had to take my father’s place. That was the first time I really had trouble clotting. I know I told you it was when you learned the bleeding curse, but I’d already almost bled to death before you learned the bleeding curse. I simplified, because I wanted you to believe me. My clotting problem really did get even worse when you learned the curse and I know, because it was the night I woke up with a bloody nose for no reason.”

            “What, you were sleeping and your nose just starting bleeding?” I asked.

            “Bleeding so bad I took two Blood Replenishing potions and had to get all new bedding. I was taken to the Muggles then two. They put their burning wand up my nose and burned the bleeding away.” Then he changed back to our original topic of conversation, “But back to the Dark Lord. He started marking and I started bleeding. The more he marked, the more I bled. I passed out from blood loss. When I woke up, he’d decided I wasn’t worthy and I had this blob. That’s why I wanted the cabinet to rescue my father, to prove I was worthy,” he explained.

            “How would a cabinet get your father out of Azkaban?” I asked, glad he’d gotten out of being marked.

            He shrugged. “Well…it’s a nice cabinet. It would be really nice if it wasn’t broken. I thought I could fix it and then barter my father’s freedom with it.”

            “How could you barter release from Azkaban with a cabinet?” I asked, trying not to laugh at the absurdity.

            “You don’t know the head guard at Azkaban like I do. He likes antique furniture. It’s part of his set…” Draco droned, as if I was the stupid one.

            I giggled. “Uh huh.”

            “I didn’t say it was a _good_ plan, did I? That’s part of why I gave it up,” he replied with a smirk. Then he changed topics. “Listen, this potion is going to be ready soon. I think we should do the ritual tomorrow, because it has to be done first.”

            “Yeah, all right. What’s the ritual?” I asked.

            “Like I said, it just fools the potion into thinking we’re in a relationship,” he said, pulling out a small and very old looking book from his school bag.

            There was gold script on the cover and when I bent to look closer, I realized it was in Latin. I couldn’t read Latin. I would have liked to read it, but I didn’t want to make a fuss either and admit I couldn’t read Latin. He obviously could and it was a relatively common second language among the Purebloods.

            “That and the sperm,” I said as he handed me the book. I opened it up and was surprised to see an even older languid inside: Ancient Runes. The spells were in Ancient Runes, the explanation and additional instructions in Latin. But these didn’t even look like the Runes Hermione studied.

            “Exactly!”

            “Are these the runes you study in Ancient Runes?” I asked.

            “No, we study Celtic Runes in class; these are French. This book has been in my family, since before we crossed the channel from France. My great grandfather said it’s at least two thousand years old, but it’s a translation of a book that was even older. The original book was the first Malfoy family spell book and written in French Runes. It was translated into Latin when the Runes fell into disuse. I wish I had the original though…” he mused.

            “Why do we need such old spells? Wouldn’t it be easier to use a modern spell book? Then we wouldn’t have to worry that your translation is correct.”

            Draco looked offended. “I’ve been studying this book since I was four! My translation is perfect!

            “Sorry. Is it…erm, sacred…?” I asked, remembering something I’d heard about spell books with the old families: they were like bibles with Muggles. The ancients wrote down every spell they knew in their spell books and passed them on from parent to child. Old magic could be very powerful; the protection of my mother’s blood resulting from her sacrifice was proof of that.

            “Yes! And it’s better than modern spells. They may be slightly less accurate than modern spells, but they are more powerful. They can do things modern spells cannot. Besides, these are all non-verbal. They’re about the feeling, not the words. We don’t have the words to make this potion work, but we have the feelings,” he explained.

            I liked  the way that sounded. I wasn’t sure exactly what he was saying, but I thought that maybe he was implying that he loved me and knew I loved him. I felt dizzy with excitement at the prospect. In that moment, I would’ve agreed to do any spell in that book with him, without caring what it was.

            “Anyway, I have everything we need, except for a ring or something with the Potter crest on it. Did you ever get me that jewelry I asked for?” he asked.

            “Yes,” I admitted. “But you didn’t say it was for the ritual.”

            “I wanted to surprise you. I got you one too,” he said, pulling a ring with the Malfoy crest off his middle finger. I noticed then that he was wearing two; the usual one he always wore was on his right ring finger and the second, slightly larger one, from his right middle finger.

            “You did?” I asked, like a lovesick puppy. My heart rate sped up as my mind started making wild leaps.

            “Yes, I’ll put it on your hand during the ritual. Where’s mine?” he asked, holding the ring out for me to see.

            It was beautiful, simple, and elegant: silver engraved with a serpent.

            “It’s in my trunk,” I answered. It had arrived a week ago, and I’d wanted to keep it safe until the time felt right. I didn’t know when it would feel right, but now it seemed I had my answer. “Isn’t that the Slytherin crest, not the Malfoy crest?”

            “No, they’re different. Slytherin is a snake. Malfoy is a serpent, see?” he asked, motioning towards the engraving.

            “No…” I admitted.

            “It’s all in the gills! Slytherin snakes don’t have gills. Malfoy water-serpents do!” he explained animatedly.

            I chuckled, and conceded, “All right, so Malfoys have gills.”

            He smiled smugly and slipped the ring back onto his middle finger. “Exactly.”

            I had the sudden urge to kiss that smug smile off his face. I could picture myself doing it. I was reaching out for him, about to pull his head down so that I could reach his lips with mine…Then Draco went into a trance and I knew it wouldn’t be good. The trance lasted only a second, so I barely had time to realize this, before he was coming out. I feared he was reaching for his wand to curse me, but all he did was push me away and look at me with disbelief.

            “Still?” he asked.

            A month ago, he would have said it with a sneer on his face, maybe even vomited. Two months ago, he would’ve Crucioed me. But now that we had almost become friends, he looked at me with sadness and maybe a bit of pity.

            “Yes. You’re not disgusted?” I asked in return.

            He shrugged. “It was only a kiss.”

            I looked at him, wondering if things could change. It’d only been two months since he’d told me he’d seen me raping him. Lately when I imagined him, I hadn’t imagined having sex with him; I’d only imagined him standing there in front of me, touching himself and if I found myself with my imagination getting away from me, I would stop it by asking fantasy Draco for consent. If his reaction to me could change from anger, disgust, vomiting, and feeling violated, to indifference in so short a period, could I change his feelings completely? If I left sex out of the equation, like Dumbledore said, could I have a relationship with Draco? And if I gave him time to heal emotionally, would he one day recover enough to want sex? Or would he be forever asexual?

            If he was stuck this way, would I mind? It would be wrong of me to lead him on, to let him think I was okay with having a relationship with him without sex, if I wasn’t really. I couldn’t make him think I was okay with it, just to give him a chance to heal from the rape, and then switch things up on him. If I wanted him, I had to commit to a life of celibacy if he never healed, or I had to give him up.

            In that moment, I wanted him. I didn’t know if I would always want him more than I wanted sex, but right then, I did.

            Draco went into another trance and came out of it an instant later, smiling.

            It occurred to me then that I’d seen these very short trances before; he’d been doing them all along, since first year. I’d thought it was his way of posturing, to pause for a split second before reacting, but really he’d been having visions.

            “What did you see?” I asked.

            “Me growing old. I’m going to live,” he answered.

            “I’m glad,” I said reaching out to him.

            He took my hand in his and held it. “We’ll do the ritual tomorrow. You’ll like it; you’ll see,” he said, still smiling. I smiled back at him.

            We stayed like that for a minute, but then the moment was broken by a yawn.

            “You’re tired,” I said, as he continued to yawn.

            “Yes. Can you finish up tonight by yourself? It’s just another forty-three minutes until the timer goes off, then three counter-clockwise stirs.”

            “Then let it brew until eleven and sneak back in here to cast a stasis charm, I know,” I reassured.

            He squeezed my hand, nodded, and then left, taking his Malfoy crest ring with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think of Draco’s surprise? Please review!
> 
> I would like to give a special thanks to Ash186 and Nagilover4ever for reviewing the last chapter! Your feedback is invaluable :D


	15. Chapter 15

            The next day Draco rushed panting into the bathroom dressed in flowing ivory colored robes, cut in the oldest of styles. The robes looked crude and unadorned, the edges unhemmed and fraying, but pure and elegant at the same time.

            “What happened?” I asked concerned, as he pressed his back up against the door and caught his breath.

            “Hestia!” he answered, breathing hard.

            “What’d she do? Did she hurt you?”

            He shook his head. “Chased me.”

            “Chased you? Were you running?” I asked. I was surprised and concerned, because this was the first instance of him running I was aware of since before his ribs broke.

            “More of walking fast.” He continued to breathe hard.

            “Are your ribs hurting?” I asked.

            He shook his head. “For once, no,” he answered.

            That relieved some of my worry. Now there was just Hestia. “Why was she after you?” I asked.

            He took several deep breathes before answering, “Caught her sneaking out of Slughorn’s private quarters. Tried to take points.”

            I shook my head and let out a surprised laugh. He hadn’t done a lick of prefecting all year and now, when his ribs are barely healed, he comes across one of the most dangerous witches in the school and decides to take points from his own house. I almost asked him why he fled—he was a prefect after all—but I stopped myself, because I was glad he did. I didn’t want him getting hurt. Instead, I looked him up and down and studied his unusual attire. “Nice robes,” I said.

            “I have a set for you too. Here, you should go into the stalls and change,” he said, pulling a second set of robes, this one more of a tan color than ivory, from his schoolbag and handing them to me.

            “What is it?” I asked, taking the robes and feeling the fabric between my fingers. The material was thin and soft, but firm and shiny with a cool feel to it. It was most definitely not wool and I didn’t think it was any fiber I’d ever owned before.

            “Malfoy family robes. They’re made of linen. Linen is really hard and uncomfortable when it’s new, but these are really old, so they’re soft,” he explained.

            “Do I need to be extra careful with them? Are they going to tear?” I asked worriedly. I didn’t want to ruin his family heirloom.

            He shook his head. “No. There are protection charms woven into the fabric. Just put yours on already, so we can get started.”

            I did as he said, going into the stall that we weren’t storing the potion in.

            “They aren’t meant to be worn with knickers. Take it all off,” he said from the other side of the stall door as I stripped my regular clothes off.

            I felt my cheeks color in embarrassment as I realized that I was supposed to be naked under this thin fabric. Then it occurred to me that he was naked underneath his. That thought alone was enough to have me hard in seconds. I groaned as I took my pants off and wondered what I was going to do with my erection underneath these ancient robes. What if it started leaking and I got precum on them? Would it ruin them? Would he ever forgive me?

            “What’s taking so long?” he asked impatiently. “Hurry it up. It’s not that complicated: strip and then put my set of robes over your head. Don’t tell me they don’t fit; I know how scrawny you are under those ugly baggy clothes you like to wear.”

            I took a deep breath, made a silent wish to Merlin to please keep my erection from causing problems, and slipped the linen robes over my head. They were cut thinner than my school robes and were longer too. They were too constricting to hide my erection, which made a notable tent in the front. I could only hope that my average size would mean he wouldn’t notice the tent and that my cock wouldn’t start leaking and stain the fabric. I really hoped I didn’t bugger this ritual up; it felt big and important and I wanted it to go right.

            With another gulp of air, I turned and opened the stall. Draco was setting up a second, much smaller cauldron that he hadn’t told me anything about. He looked up at me, his pupils dilating, and I wondered what he was thinking.

            “What do you think?” I asked, taking an awkward step forward, the too long robes trailing behind me.

            “Perfect,” he answered simply.

            I smiled and pointed to the second cauldron. “What’s that for?”

            “A surprise for you, but only if everything goes right. Where’s the semen? I need it before we can get started,” he said, holding out a hand.

            For a split second, my mind thought he was asking for fresh semen, which I was more than willing to produce. Then I remembered the frozen flask I’d brought with me. “Oh, here!” I exclaimed, rushing to my backpack and practically tripping over the robes, but catching myself before I fell.

            I fetched out the frozen semen and handed it over. He took it from me with long, slender fingers and I couldn’t help but think that those fingers were just a bit of glass away from touching my spunk. Then he cast a warming charm, turning it back into viscous fluid. He gave the flask a swirl, stirring the contents. I could feel my cheeks burning as I watched it slosh around.

            “Perfect. I’ll just set this aside for the last step of the potion. And the ring? You brought my ring, didn’t you?” he asked, setting the flask on the ledge by the sink.

            I nodded and held up my hand for him to see; the ring was on my pinky finger. My family crest was simple and ugly compared to his; three five-petaled flowers on a shield. “I’m sorry the Potter crest isn’t cool,” I said, taking the ring off my finger and holding it out for him to see.

            “No, it’s perfect. It’s not all that different from the Peverell crest. The Potters have Peverell blood, did you know?” he asked, examining the ring.

            I shook my head. “Who are the Peverells?” I asked.

            “An ancient family of Purebloods. The Malfoys have Peverell blood too, but from a different line. All the old lines connect if you go back far enough,” he explained.

            I nodded. “Do we need to brew another potion for the ritual?” I asked, motioning towards the second cauldron.

            “No, that’s for your surprise. It’ll come last,” he said, handing me back the Potter ring. “Here, we should start.”

            I returned the ring to my pinky finger and Draco directed me to stand facing him. He waved his wand in an intricate pattern and conjured a string from my chest. Then he did the same to himself, conjuring a second string from his own chest.

            “I’ll lead us through it,” he started. “First I cast the wordless spell that starts the ritual.” He began an intricate series of movements with his wand, directed at the empty space between our heads, that slowly made a bright white ball of magic appear over our heads.

            When it was twice the size of a Quaffle, he finished the spell with a flourish. “Now you take our strings and tie them in a knot while you think about your feelings towards me. You don’t need your wand, just take the strings, close your eyes, and concentrate,” he directed.

            I grabbed a string with each hand and gulped, looking at him questioningly. “What sort of knot?” I asked.

            “Any kind will do,” he answered.

            I nodded, closed my eyes, thought about the complex jumble of emotions I felt for him, and tied a knot. I wanted him to give us a chance. I didn’t want what we’d been building between us to suddenly stop now that the potion was almost complete. At the very least, I wanted to be his friend. At most, I wanted to be his asexual boyfriend. Maybe even kiss him. I didn’t want sex from him, but only because I knew he didn’t want it. I let the strings fall from my fingers, with a thought of love for him.

            I opened my eyes to see Draco taking up the strings. He looked me in the eyes with a fierce intensity as he tied our strings again.

            “Give me your hand,” he instructed.

            I held out my right hand, the one with the ring, but he shook his head, so I switched and held out the left. He smiled and took the ring from his middle finger and slid it onto my left ring finger. It fit perfectly. He clasped his hands over mine and closed his eyes. I felt the warmth from his skin travel up my hand and into my chest, warming me. I felt loved and tingly as he let go of my hand. I felt throbbing in my cock that I tried to ignore.

            “Now do the same to me. Think about me when you do it,” he instructed, holding out his left hand.

            I removed the ring with the Potter crest from my pinky and reached for his left hand. “I don’t know if it will fit your ring finger,” I said self-consciously. I hadn’t intended him to wear it on that finger. I’d gotten it to fit my pinky, thinking that he was about the same size as me. Only now that I had a ring from his middle finger on my ring finger, did I begin to suspect that my fingers were thicker than his. Sure I knew his were longer, but I hadn’t known they were thinner too.

            “It will,” he reassured.

            I slid my ring onto his ring finger and was surprised to see that he was right: it was a perfect fit. I enclosed my hands around his hand and thought about how much I loved him. He may not be perfect, but he was perfect for me. I normally wasn’t this sappy. I didn’t know where all this love was coming from, because before it had always just been want. But with that glowing ball above me, my want had turned to love.

            “It’s done,” he said as I released his hand. “Now let me finish it.”

            Then he plucked his wand out of his sleeve pocket and began to cast again. The ball of magic descended on us, growing as it surrounded us, until we were wholly inside it. Our knotted strings turned to shiny unbreakable metal and then disappeared into thin air. The ball of white magic surrounding us grew dimmer until it too faded away into nothingness.

            It was over, but I felt like I was permanently tied to him, like no one could ever take him away from me. I looked down at the ring on my finger and felt loved and happy.

            “We can do the potion in a minute. First, there is something I need to do,” he said taking a step back from me.

            I didn’t look up from my ring as I nodded. I didn’t see him moving the flask of my semen. I did look up in time to see him going into the stall with my flask of sperm.

            “What are you doing?” I squeaked out, a wet feeling on the head of my cock. I looked down to see a small wet spot and stared as it slowly grew. If it wasn’t for the warm fuzzy feeling from the ritual still lodged in my chest, I would have been horrified that I was soiling his robes.

            “Nothing. I just have to separate this into two flasks. It’s a double batch, remember?” he asked through the stall door.

            In that moment, I wasn’t thinking straight. I was horny and imagining him doing perverted things behind that stall door with my sperm. An offer to give him a fresh sample was on the tip of my tongue…but then I caught myself and stopped.

            “Are you okay? Are you having a vision?” I asked worriedly.

            “Yes…and yes…” His voice sounded strained.

            “Is that why you went in there?” I asked. I figured that he’d seen me having dirty thoughts while he split the semen, so he went into the loo to do it. Only later, did I question whether my thoughts would have been so dirty, if he hadn’t taken the flask behind a closed door.

            “Yes. It’s done. Just give me a minute to get my thoughts together, so I don’t try to curse you,” he said, still sounding strained.

            “I’m sorry,” I apologized, upset with myself for going there. Why did I have to think dirty thoughts about him? He wouldn’t put my ejaculate on his cock and use it for lube! Asexual people had no need for lube!

            A minute later, he came out of the stall with two flasks, each half full of my semen. Between the two, there didn’t look to be any missing, confirming that he hadn’t been in there rubbing it all over his crotch.

            “We only need one, if this goes right,” he said, placing a freezing spell on one flask and taking the other flask to the large cauldron filled with our potion.

            He lifted the stasis charm and divided the potion in two. “We only need half of the potion too,” he explained as he worked. He cast a cooling charm. Then he stirred with one hand and poured the remaining half flask of my semen into half the potion.

            I watched him work as he finished the final step of the potion, carefully counting off the correct number of clockwise and anti-clockwise stirs. Then he decanted it into a large engraved silver beer stein from his schoolbag.

            “That should be it. Bottoms up,” he said and then drank it.

            He drank a potion containing my sperm! I’d ejaculated and he’d put it in his fancy beer stein and swallowed it. I almost ejaculated just thinking about it.

            A coppery glow emanated from Draco and then dissipated away.

            “It worked. Now for your surprise,” he said, putting the mug down and going to his schoolbag to retrieve a small box made of a bright pink plastic that could only be Muggle in origin. Inside it contained tiny Muggle plastic tubes that gave off steam as they encountered the warm air in the loo.

            “What are those?” I asked.

            “A Muggle doctor extracted them for me with his needles. He said there is nothing wrong with my bollocks. He said the same thing as my healer: that it’s all in my head. He said my bollocks make the stuff just fine. It just never comes out on its own. Each one of these is from a different day. Each one should have enough of me to make a baby or to brew a potion. I just have to make the seminal fluid to go with it—that’s what the cauldron is for—and then you can have a dose of potion too. It’ll protect you from dying in the war. I can keep you alive, do you see?” he asked excitedly. He plucked one tiny tube from the box and returned the box to his schoolbag.

            My mouth hung open in shock. After he’d refused to reciprocate Snape’s ritual, I’d just assumed he’d refuse to reciprocate this one too.

             He cast a defrosting charm on the tube and then went into a short trance. When he came out of it, he said, “Don’t look at me like that. This potion is completely different from Snape’s. His would’ve let you kill me physically and left me with no magic to defend myself with, if I’d reciprocated. This one protects me completely from death. You can still hurt me, but you can’t kill me. As long as you are alive to protect me, it will protect me from death at the hands of another too. It’s not all powerful—a well-placed Avada Kedavra can still kill me, because nothing can counter the killing curse—but most anything else will be non-lethal. But you, you’re already immune to Avada Kedavra and this will protect you from the rest, so it doesn’t matter how many times the Dark Lord comes after you, because his own killing curses will just bounce off you, back onto him. Then this will all be over and we’ll be free. Don’t you see? It’ll be perfect!” As he spoke, he moved to his little cauldron and started it up, adding first a half cup of water and then small amounts of salts.

            “I live too?” I asked unsure.

            He stirred the salts, watching to see that they dissolved fully. “Yes! Isn’t it great?” he asked excitedly, looking up at me from over his cauldron.

            “Yes,” I answered. “What exactly are you making?”

            “Seminal fluid. I can’t make the stuff. I make the stuff in the tube, but not the fluid. But the fluid is just salt water and protein goo, so I’m making a substitute. I have some gelatin to add once it’s boiling. Gelatin should substitute for the protein. The proteins not important; it’s my essence that’s important and I’ve got that,” he explained.

            “Why do you have those tubes again?” I asked.

            “My mother asked the Muggle doctor to check me out, to see if there was anything they could do, since my healer said there was nothing he could do. So, the doctor checked with his Muggle contraptions—a wand that uses sound to look at my insides—and said there was nothing wrong. Then he stuck one of his sewing needles into me, which is the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life, by the way, and got reproductive essence. He looked at it under an inverse telescope and said it was healthy and fully functional. My mother said that if it’s fully functional, she wanted a bunch of it, so she could have grandchildren. But I don’t need this many children, so I’m giving one to you, to save you from the Dark Lord,” he explained.

            “Okay,” I said, not knowing what to make of this information. It sounded painful. And if each tube was from a different time the procedure was done, then I didn’t want to be him. My erection started deflating in sympathy for the first time since I’d put on these silky soft robes. But he was making artificial semen for me and I could feel silky soft fabric swishing around my cock with my every movement and that was enough for my erection to regain full mast.

            “There, it’s boiling. Now I just add the gelatin and let it cool enough to not kill my essence,” he said, dumping the powdery contents of a small satchel into the cauldron and stirring.

            A minute later, he turned off the heat, cast a cooling charm, and added the contents of the plastic tube. “There, same as yours. Or close enough,” he said, scooping it up with a silver ladle.

            I looked into the ladle at the half cup of clear fluid. It was not white or viscous and didn’t look all that much like jizz. Without food dye and being allowed to chill, it didn’t look like gelatin either. It could’ve been salt water for all I could tell. “Um, sure,” I said neutrally. I wasn’t sure if it would work, but what could it hurt to try?

            “Now we just add it to the other batch of potion and finish it up,” he concluded, transferring his artificial jizz to the other cauldron.

            He finished it the same as he had done with the first batch. Then he ladled it all up into the fancy silver mug and handed it to me.

            “Thanks,” I said, taking the mug.

            I took a tentative sip. It didn’t taste good, exactly, but it wasn’t as bad as I’d feared. Most potions tasted awful, but this one didn’t make me cringe. It was salty and warm, but not much of anything else. There was a lot of it to gulp down, but I managed without too much difficulty. Then the copper glow was being emitted from my skin and I felt magic settle into my belly, right behind my naval. It was warm and comforting and tingly. Then I realized that it was his sperm inside me and I came untouched in the fancy linen robes just thinking about it.

            I went into a hazy blissful daze for a moment, but then started to panic. I’d just cum in front of Draco, while wearing his robes and nothing else underneath. My quickly cooling spunk was dripping down the front of my thighs.

            Did he know? How would he react? “Draco?” I asked hesitantly.

            “Hmm?” he asked, looking up from cleaning the big cauldron. He looked like he’d been so preoccupied with cleaning that he hadn’t noticed me.

            “I think I should change,” I said, not wanting to draw his attention to my predicament if he hadn’t noticed on his own.

            He looked back down to the cauldron he was scrubbing. “Yes, change. You should bathe. The elves will clean the robes and give them back to me,” he said.

            I flushed at the implication that he knew what I’d done and was doing his best not to notice it.

            “You’re okay?” I asked, needing to make sure he hadn’t just had a nasty vision while I was out of it.

            He shrugged. “Confused, mostly. I don’t understand how…” he trailed off and was silent for half a minute. “Never-mind. Just go wash up. I’m fine.”

            “Okay,” I said, hoping that meant he hadn’t seen anything too bad.

            I grabbed up my backpack and my school robes and hurried out of there, with a muttered, “I’ll see you later.”

            This was a most embarrassing end to what had been one of the most magical events of my life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there it is, the ritual and the potion. Have you all figured out what the ritual was?


	16. Chapter 16

            I woke up ridiculously early the next morning when an owl knocked on the dorm room window.

            Neville jumped up and let the thing in and I rolled over, hoping it was for someone else, so that I could go back to sleep. But I had no such luck, because the thing landed on my head and pecked at my scalp.

            “All right. I’m up,” I said, fumbling for the scroll tied to its leg.

            It was a pesky owl that kept nipping me, so I pulled open a drawer and dug around until I found an owl treat. It took the treat and flew away with an indignant hoot. I opened the scroll and realized that the horrible pest had been sent by Snape.

 

 

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_Or is it Malfoy now? Or perhaps you plan on hyphenating and prefer Malfoy-Potter? Regardless, let me be the first to congratulate you on your nuptials, you stupid boy. I suppose I am wasting my time by informing you that the elves have reported cleaning the Malfoy family ceremonial wedding robes last night. You cannot possibly be so stupid as to participate in an ancient wordless wedding ritual without knowing what it is, could you? Not even you could be that stupid._

_As to the point of this letter, I am writing to inform you that your new groom has run off. Draco Malfoy Potter left me a letter informing me of his resignation from this school, on account of his marriage last night and his resulting need to take his mother into hiding. It is school policy for students to wait until the end of term to get married, to avoid interruptions like this, but I suppose the rules do not apply to you. I am taking 100 points from Gryffindor for your thoughtless actions and assigning you detentions every evening for the rest of the school year, in addition to your usual weekend detentions._

_-Professor Severus Snape_

            I groaned. I didn’t know what Snape was on about, but it couldn’t be good. The only part that made any sense was that he was taking points and assigning detentions, as usual.

            Half a minute later, another owl flew into the open window and sat patiently on the foot of my bed with its scroll. Grudgingly, I got up and removed the scroll, wondering if I had any more owl treats left. But this owl must’ve already been fed, because it took off as soon as its leg was free.

 

_Dear Harry James Potter Malfoy,_

_I have been informed of your marriage. Please see me in my office immediately._

_Sincerely, Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_

 

            Suddenly it sunk in. I jumped up and screamed, “I’m married!?!” waking my dorm mates up.

            Ron was the last to poke his head out of his covers, but the first to grab for Snape’s letter and freak out. Then Seamus and Dean went for the letter and I knew I couldn’t let them read it, so I snatched it up.

            I grabbed up Dumbledore’s letter too, looked Ron in the eyes and said, “You _can’t_ tell anyone about this. No one can know who I’m married to, or Voldemort will be out for blood.”

            “You’re not seriously trying to tell me you married the fer—” Ron started, but I cut him off.

            “I don’t know what I did. Dumbledore and Snape seem to think I did. I need to go talk to Dumbledore, but first, I need you to swear to me that you won’t say anything to anyone. Not even Seamus, Dean, and Neville,” I said.

            “Hey!” Dean protested. “Why aren’t you telling us?”

            “Yeah, we can be trusted,” Seamus added.

            “And we want to hear about the wedding night,” Dean put in, waggling an eyebrow disgustingly.

            I looked from Dean, to Seamus, back to Dean, and then to Neville. Neville was quietly watching us, unsure what was going on.

            “But Harry, this _has_ to be wrong! You wouldn’t do something like this! Not without telling me and Hermione?” Ron whined.

            “We will talk about this after I meet with Dumbledore. I don’t even know if it’s true. I definitely didn’t intend to marry _anyone_ last night. And for the record, there was _no_ wedding night!” I replied.

            “Fine, but I have to tell Hermione. She’ll put this right. I have to tell her,” Ron insisted.

            “Yes, Hermione can know, but no one else,” I insisted.

            “All right, I promise. Go on. I reckon Dumbledore doesn’t want to be kept waiting. He’s probably pissed he didn’t merit an invite. For the record, I’m pissed I wasn’t your best man, and I don’t even like the git!” Ron shouted the last.

            With that settled, I said a quick, “Thanks Ron,” and took off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s short, but the scene with Dumbledore is going to be very long…  
> Please Review!


	17. Chapter 17

            I didn’t know the password to Dumbledore’s office, but I didn’t need to know it, because the headmaster himself came down and fetched me up the moment I arrived. He sat me in a chair and then stood over me, staring down at me with a look like he could force a confession out of me.

            “Did you have sex with Draco Malfoy last night, Harry?” Dumbledore asked sternly.

            “What!?!” I blurted out. This was the last thing I expected to hear.

            “Did you or did you _not_ , I repeat, have sex with your husband, Draco Malfoy Potter, after your marriage last night?” he asked again.

            “No! We didn’t have sex! I didn’t even know we got married!”

            “Are you sure? This is very important, Harry. Are you one hundred percent sure?”

            “Yes!” I answered. “He’s not even like that! He can’t have sex!”

            Dumbledore eased up a bit. He sat down at his desk, entwined his fingers, and asked, “Then how did your marriage get consummated, Harry? I know you know what a colossal mistake it would be to sleep with someone who has accused you of rape, so perhaps you can explain how your semen got on Draco Malfoy Potter’s ceremonial wedding robes?”

            “His robes? The ivory ones? Because I was wearing the tan ones and I had an accident in them,” I explained, wondering if that was what this was about.

            “The elves found your semen, Harry, in both the tan and the ivory sets of Malfoy wedding robes,” Dumbledore informed me.

            “That can’t be. He didn’t touch me. He told me to go change and take a bath. I left the robes on the floor of the prefect’s bathroom,” I protested.

            “The elves reported retrieving your robes from the prefect’s bathroom. They noticed the semen, collected it, and reported their finding and the sample to me, after cleaning and returning the robes. The also retrieved Draco Malfoy Potter’s robes from the bathroom in his dormitory, which they collected a second sample from. Mr. Malfoy Potter left school grounds the moment his robes were returned to him, before I analyzed the samples and confirmed that they both belonged to you, Mr. Potter Malfoy,” Dumbledore said.

            “Why are you calling me that?” I asked.

            “Because you have not told me what else to call you, now that you are married,” he answered, still boring into me with those blue eyes of his.

            “Just Potter, please. This has all been a huge misunderstanding. I’m not married to Draco. And even if I was, I couldn’t let anyone know that sort of thing, or Voldemort will kill him!” I exclaimed.

            “You are not married to Draco?” Dumbledore asked.

            “No, I am not,” I confirmed.

            “Then why, in my log of unapproved rituals occurring on school grounds, is an ancient nonverbal marriage ritual listed as having taken place between Harry James Potter Malfoy and Draco Lucius Malfoy Potter last night, at eight in the evening?” he asked, pushing a log book towards me.

            I read the log book. “This can’t be…” I muttered, staring at the entry.

            “But it is.”

            “It was as accident! Draco and I weren’t trying to do a marriage ritual! I have to tell him!” I exclaimed, jumping out of my seat.

            “Sit down, Harry. Your husband is already aware of your marriage,” Dumbledore said, making a gesture indicating that I should sit.

            “Did you tell him already?” I asked.

            “No, I didn’t need to.”

            “How do you know? He probably has _no_ idea!” I exclaimed as I sat back down.

            “Harry, Draco absolutely knew what he was doing. There is no way a marriage ritual could be completed without both parties wishing to be married to the other,” Dumbledore replied.

            “But if I wished to marry him and didn’t know my wish would secretly result in the ritual going haywire and marrying us, then he probably didn’t know either!” I insisted.

            “There is no ritual that can accidently turn into a marriage ritual of this type. Either one of you cast the nonverbal magic and conjured the strings of life with the explicit unspoken intent to marry the two of you, or it wouldn’t have happened. Even if you did not know, my dear boy, your groom did know exactly what he was doing. This was precisely planned, don’t you see? Right down to wedding robes and rings too, if my eyes are not mistaking that glint on your ring finger.”

            I touched my new ring and looked at the Malfoy crest, before asking, “He knew?”

            “He knew,” Dumbledore confirmed.

            “And he went through with it anyway?” I asked disbelievingly.

            “Yes. And somehow, he consummated your marriage, without either of you having sex. A consummated marriage of this kind cannot be annulled,” Dumbledore informed me.

            “We didn’t consummate anything,” I protested.

            “Why don’t you tell me what you did do, Harry?” Dumbledore asked almost kindly.

            I let out a sigh and then relayed everything I knew about what we’d done the night before. The ritual, the potion, the semen, the robes, and my little accident. I wouldn’t have told him about the semen or my accident, if he hadn’t been so sure that my semen was everywhere.

            When I finished, Dumbledore nodded and concluded, “He must have used the second flask of semen to consummate your marriage, so that the potions would work.”

            “No…How could he have? You can’t consummate a marriage with a flask of semen! And it was still there, untouched, after we both took our doses of potion!”

            It was then that Dumbledore informed me that a marriage could be consummated by putting a small amount of the spouse’s semen just inside the rectum, using one’s finger to get it there.

            This was probably the last thing I wanted to hear from the last person I wanted to hear something like this from. By the end of it, my head was spinning and I thought I might pass out.

            When Draco had taken the flask of semen into the stall to split it, could he really have dipped his finger into my semen and then stuck that same finger up his bum, to consummate our marriage?

            While my thoughts raced with images of pale, slender, semen coated fingers pressing into Draco’s round arse, Dumbledore proceeded to state that the wordless ritual I had performed sounded exactly like an ancient Pureblood non-verbal marriage ritual and that the potion Draco and I made could only have taken if we were married, which was why Draco had married us first.

            When Dumbledore finished, I protested, “But I never put his semen up my butt!”

            “You only need to consummate a marriage ritual once. Him putting your semen up his butt was enough to consummate it for the both of you,” he replied.

            “But how can this be? Marriage rituals can’t just be performed and consummated without the other person knowing!” I protested.

            “Most people do not agree to perform nonverbal rituals that resemble marriage rituals without knowing what they are. Most people don’t just hand over flasks of their semen to people they don’t intend on marrying.”

            He had an answer for everything. My anger flared then and I wanted to demand that if he had an answer for it all, then why had I cum in my pants? Was that all part of the ritual too? But I stopped myself, because I was being ridiculous. I wasn’t angry with him. He was just the messenger. I was angry that Draco hadn’t told me what we were doing. I was angry that I hadn’t consummated our marriage with actual sex that I was a participant in or at the very least, been allowed to push my own semen up Draco’s butt with my fingers. And I was angry that Draco was gone and had left me, without so much as a word of farewell. That wasn’t what people were supposed to do to their husbands the day after their weddings. By all rights, I should have him shacked up with me in some hotel, screwing my brains out with his giant cock! I shouldn’t be sitting in Dumbledore’s office, hearing about it from our Headmaster.

            “I have to hand it to your husband, Harry,” Dumbledore said, interrupting my internal rantings.

            “Why?” I asked exhausted.

            It wasn’t even breakfast yet and I was ready for it to be over. I would’ve loved nothing more than to wake up in my bed and realize that this was all just a dream. But that wasn’t true, was it? If I was honest with myself, I had to admit that I was glad to be married to Draco. Now he couldn’t be with anyone else. But more importantly, he’d have to come back to me after I killed Voldemort. He had to be my husband. And now with this precedent he’d set on our wedding night, I could probably get him to stick sperm covered fingers up my arse.

            “He has found a way to save you both from Voldemort. Last summer, I thought for certain I was going to have to sacrifice Severus to save Draco. But not only did Draco save himself and take his mother into hiding, he gave you a potion that may very well end up saving your life. You may make it through this war and come out alive, my boy,” Dumbledore said cheerfully.

            I grumbled to myself, not nearly as pleased with this statement as he was, because this wasn’t news to me. Draco had told me last night that we would both live through the war.

            “But how can I find him? I need to talk to him,” I insisted. If I could just talk to him, maybe he’d let me go into hiding with him. Even if we couldn’t properly consummate this marriage, we could at least cuddle!

            “I’m sorry, my boy. I already sent Severus to track Draco down and he failed. Malfoy Manor has disappeared and Narcissa Malfoy with it. That husband of yours works fast.”

            “Malfoy Manor disappeared?” I asked.

            “And the surrounding lands. It’s the Fidelius charm or something similar,” he said.

            “Who’s his Secret Keeper?” I asked.

            “If he’s smart, and I think he is, he set himself up as Secret Keeper for his mother,” Dumbledore answered.

            “He can do that?” I wondered then why my parents hadn’t done that.

            “Only because his father is still alive, so the house technically doesn’t belong to him yet. Normally one has to be seventeen to be a Secret Keeper, but marriage automatically qualifies him as an adult. That goes for you as well, Harry. I’m afraid your mother’s protection will no longer work. But, now you have Draco’s protection on you and that won’t end on your seventeenth birthday.”

            “Good, then I don’t have to go back to the Dursleys,” I proclaimed.

            “I guess you do not,” he confirmed.

            “Is there anything else you want? Snape already punished me. If my husband is safe, I think I should like to have some time alone to myself to think,” I said, getting up to leave.

            “There are a few more very important bits of information I must impart to you, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “Sit down.”

            I sat, groaning in frustration and tersely bit out, “What?” He didn’t deserve it, but Draco wasn’t here to take it out on.

            “You need to be aware that you carry Draco’s sperm inside you and Draco carries your sperm inside him.”

            “So?” I asked petulantly.

            “So, if you die, he will immediately become pregnant with your child, creating an heir. If he dies, you will be the one who becomes pregnant with his child. If there ever comes a time when you feel nauseous, especially if there is no apparent cause for it and especially if it lasts for more than a week, he could be dead and you could be pregnant,” he warned.

            Once again, my mouth flopped open like a fish. It was worse this time, because I actually felt drool on my chin, before I forced my mouth closed.

            “Also, I would not advise trying to cheat on him, because the ceremony you went with will prevent any deviation from strict monogamy,” he continued.

            I probably should have asked how, but at this point, it was information overload. I was still stuck on the part where we could get pregnant, even though we were blokes. “He’s a boy. He can’t get pregnant,” I said. I didn’t consider the reverse, because he wasn’t going to die.

            It was then that Dumbledore advised me on precisely how wrong I was. Not only could men get pregnant, Draco could now do so whenever he wanted, without my participation, thanks to the flask of sperm I’d left with him. The flask I couldn’t get back, because Draco had taken it into hiding. He could even get pregnant off the sperm he’d stuck up his arse, consummating our marriage. He didn’t need me to die to have my children. I could end the war to find out Draco had secretly given birth to a bunch of my children. There were a lot of sperm in one flask, so Draco was only limited by the little tubes of his own sperm the Muggle doctor had extracted. There had been half a dozen tubes in the box, but he’d taken one out to give to me, so that meant there were five left. The next time I saw Draco, he could have five of our children with him.

            “Fuck!” I cursed. “Can I go now?”

            Before Dumbledore could answer, I was out of my seat and off to the Room of Requirement. I’d have to explain myself to Ron and Hermione later, but right now I needed to think. Maybe it was rude to leave the way I did, but I just couldn’t handle the headmaster telling me one more thing.

            The Room of Requirement provided me with the same room it had the last few times I’d come in here, when I’d asked for a room to masturbate in. But the thought of masturbation didn’t even occur to me as I sat down on the sofa and tried to process everything I’d learned.

            Draco and I were married. We weren’t just bound together, but permanently bound by one of those old marriage rituals that couldn’t be undone once it was consummated. And it was already consummated. But why had Draco done it? Was it merely about keeping us both alive and surviving the war? Having his protection was great, but I would never have agreed to marry someone just to gain this protection.

            I wanted a real marriage. Now that I was married to Draco, I admitted to myself that I wanted a real marriage _with_ him. It wasn’t only that I wanted one and was married to him, but I wanted one with Draco, specifically. There was a part of me that was very happy to learn that we were married. I even liked the idea that if something happened to me and I died, he’d become pregnant with our baby. I wanted kids and I wanted them with him. But I wanted to be part of it too; I didn’t want him to be pregnant now, when the child would be kept from me until after the war.

            I fiddled with the Malfoy crest ring on my finger as I considered this, turning it around and around my finger. I twisted it on and off a few times. It was the fourth time I removed it from my finger that I saw the words written on the inside of the band: “I’m sorry.”

            Had that always been there? I didn’t know. I also didn’t know which part he was sorry about. Was he sorry for marrying me, because he didn’t want me like that? Or was he only sorry for the way he’d done it?

            I sat there contemplating that message, holding my ring in front of my face, as if there might be some other clue left in the engraving, if only I looked harder.

            Then the ring grew warm and the message changed to read, “It had to be this way.” There was a Protean charm active on my ring! I had a way to send messages back and forth with Draco!

            Being familiar with the Protean charm, I easily changed the message to read, “Why did it have to be this way?”

            “You would’ve taken too long to marry me,” came the reply. Then half a minute later, “We both would’ve died,” was added.

            “What about after the war?” I sent.

            “What about it?” he replied.

            “We’ll still be married.”

            “We’ll be married regardless.” Then a minute later, a second message came that read, “All I did was hurry the inevitable along.”

            “But do you want to be married to me?” I asked.

            “Yes.”

            “Why?”

            “Because you’re mine,” he answered.

            “Can I come over?” I asked, changing the subject. I didn’t know what to make of his claim, other than he must feel the same pull towards me that I felt towards him. I doubted that he loved me after everything I’d done to him, but the draw was undeniable.

            “Not until after the war.”

            “Are you safe?” I asked another.

            “Yes. Why do you always…” the message read. Then a moment later, “want me to ask you about your feelings,” was added. Then half a minute after that, a third message came. “I already know how you feel.”

            Ever the psychic. I didn’t even know how I was feeling, but he did, apparently. That miffed me a bit, so I replied, “How do I feel?”

            “You’re mad at me, but you love me,” he replied.

            That was pretty spot on, so I added, “I want to get remarried knowing what I’m doing.”

            “You don’t really.” Then half a minute later, he added, “You like our wedding.”

            That was true, because I did secretly like it. I wanted to be mad and hate it, but it really had been beautiful. I’d put all those loving emotions into it and part of him must have done the same, otherwise, the marriage shouldn’t have taken.

            When I didn’t respond, Draco’s message changed again. “We don’t re-do the ceremony.” Then half a minute later, he added, “You’re happy with the first one.”

            “Okay,” I wrote back.

            “I’ll write to you tomorrow,” came his response.

            I waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. After a few minutes, I wrote, “Are you still there?” but he didn’t reply.

            I slipped his ring back onto my finger, my senses alert for the sensation of warmth that indicated a new message, but one never came. At least not that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is. What do you think? Please Review!


	18. Chapter 18

            The following morning, I felt my ring burn with another message. “Snape sent me a howler and a dozen books.”

            Immediately I was excited to be hearing from Draco, but confused about Snape. “He did?” I sent back.

            “Yes. He assigned me an essay on how to be a considerate person and a decent husband.” Then half a minute later, another message came. “Apparently, I’m crap at it. Sorry.”

            “You’re not crap at it,” I sent back. Well, maybe he was a little bit, but I didn’t want him to feel bad.

            “I am. I’m going to read all these books and get better.”

            “Okay,” I sent back, not knowing what I should say.

            “How Not To Be An Arse For Dummies says I should ask about you,” he sent. Then another message came. “Is there anything you want to talk about?”

            “Yes,” I sent back. There were a lot of things I wanted to talk about, but I didn’t know how to broach the subject that was most on my mind.

            “What is it?” he asked.

            I tried to figure out the words to start with for more than a minute, before he sent another message, “Please? I only read the first chapter.” Then a moment later, a third message came. “I don’t know how not to be an arse yet. Please help me.”

            I still didn’t know how to phrase it, but I decided to just jot down the first words that came to me, to put him out of his misery. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

            His response was immediate, “No. Why would I be?”

            “You consummated our marriage,” I sent back.

            “It takes two and all my vials are safe in my Muggle-box.”

            I breathed a sigh of relief, but sent another message, just to be sure. “Are they going to stay that way?”

            “Yes. I’m waiting for you,” Draco replied.

            “For me to do what?” I asked.

            “End the war.”

            “Could I come over, to talk?” I asked, pushing my luck.

            “No. It’s not safe,” he replied. Then thirty seconds later, another message came. “What do you want to talk about?”

            “Nothing,” I sent, but then immediately thought better of it, because it wasn’t nothing. “Our marriage.”

            “Our marriage is great. Best one I’ve ever had,” he sent me.

            “Glad you’re happy.”

            “I’m very happy,” he confirmed.

            “So, that settles it,” I sent, wondering if he’d catch the sarcasm.

            “Yes,” he sent. I didn’t know if he was serious or laughing.

            “What about what I’m feeling?” I asked.

            “Why are you feeling confused?” he asked.

            “I don’t know,” I wrote back.

            “I haven’t read the book on feelings. Could I get back to you?”

            “Okay,” I sent.

            “Going to start reading. Talk to you later,” he sent, even though there was no actual talking involved.

            My instinct was to write a quick, “Love you,” but I hesitated, wondering if that was the right thing to do. Would it be welcomed? Or would it be too sexual and freak him out? Did asexual people even feel romantic love? Was it too soon? Would he feel pressured to say it back? Worse, would he tell me that he didn’t feel the same? We were married, but neither of us had admitted to loving the other out loud. I’d definitely thought it during our marriage ceremony, but had he thought the same? Was it possible for the marriage to take, if he didn’t have feelings for me?

            I dwelled on this for so long that the moment disappeared. I looked at the time and realized I’d been staring at my ring, not knowing if I should say it for so long that in all likelihood, he’d thought the conversation was over. He’d be reading by now, trying to learn how to be less of a prick. It suddenly felt like now wasn’t the right moment at all to say those words. Maybe next time.

            With a sigh, I turned to my own school work. If I had to defeat Voldemort before I could see my husband, I better hit the books.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s so short, but I’m not sure what to write next. I’m thinking that a scene with Ron and Hermione might be needed here. Harry really hasn’t done much confiding in them lately and they deserve an update. Also, Harry could use the comfort of his friends. But the scene hasn’t come to me yet, so I’m going to take the rest of the week to think about it. If it doesn’t come soon, I’ll just skip it and do the war next chapter.   
>  What do you think? Does this story need a chapter with Ron and Hermione? If so, what do you think they would have to say?


	19. Chapter 19

            After exchanging messages with Draco, my time was filled with school work and detentions from Snape. When detention ended, the last thing I wanted to do was to finally explain what had happened between me and Draco to Ron and Hermione. But I’d brushed them off long enough and I’d promised them at breakfast this morning that after I got out of detention, I’d meet them in the Room of Requirement to do just that.

            I arrived at the Room of Requirement to find the door already there. The moment I cracked it open, I could hear Ron’s voice.

            “…have to find a way to get him out of this! I know it’s an old marriage bond, but surely someone must’ve found a way to break it! We can’t just let Harry be married to the Ferret forever!”

            While Ron spoke, I closed the door and joined my friends standing in the middle of the room.

            “Haven’t you listened at all to Harry, Ron? He’s said _nothing_ about wanting to be rid of this marriage! If you haven’t notice, he’s fallen pretty hard for Malfoy in the last month. He’s in love, Ron. Even if Malfoy went about it the wrong way, Harry obviously isn’t upset,” Hermione argued.

            “That _can’t_ be true! Malfoy accused Harry of rape, when Harry would never do such a thing! He even told _Muggles_! Harry, tell her it isn’t true. You don’t want to be stuck with Malfoy, do you?” Ron asked me, pleadingly.

            “Um, yeah, I do. I love him,” I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck. “And about the Muggles, it’s like Hermione said: he just needed someone to talk to and didn’t realize that it might get back to me.”

            Initially, I was so worried about the Muggles having me down as a rapist, that I confided in Ron and Hermione. Ron had been indignant on my behalf, which I’d appreciated at the time. Hermione, on the other hand, analyzed the situation and decided Draco shouldn’t be blamed. According to her, Draco had probably blabbed, because he needed someone to talk to who believed him. And the act of getting it off his chest, was essential to the healing process. I wanted him to heal, so I forgave him for blabbing.

            “That’s no excuse; he’s still an arse. You want in his pants, yeah; I’m not going to pretend to get it, but I’ll except it. For whatever twisted reason, ferret boy does it for you. But _marriage_? You _can’t_ want to be _married_ to him. Not _forever_!” Ron exclaimed.

            “Er, actually, I do. I like our marriage. It’s the best one I’ve ever had,” I replied, using lines from Draco.

            “But it’s the only one you’ve ever had! You can’t mean that!” Ron continued.

            “If it’s the only one I ever have, then that will be perfect for me. I only need one. I only need Draco. Look Ron, I know you don’t like him, but I love him. You can take it or leave it, but I won’t leave him. We’ve really been getting on lately and he’s changed. Just this morning he told me he wants to be a better husband,” I said.

            “He told you? You received an owl from him?” Hermione asked.

            “No…” I trailed off, realizing that I hadn’t told them about my ring. “My wedding ring has a Protean Charm on it. We’ve been communicating.”

            “He gives you a fancy charmed ring and now you’ve acting like a love-sick puppy!” Ron accused.

            I turned to glare Ron straight in the face, as my fury built up. I wasn’t in the mood for him or his bullshite tonight. “Leave! If you have a problem with me and Draco, then you can get out!” I shouted, my foul mood from Snape amplified by Ron’s behavior. Knowing Ron, he’d eventually apologize and knowing myself, I’d forgive him, but for now I wanted him gone.

            Ron spluttered a bit and then left.

            Hermione wrapped her arm around my shoulder as we watched the door to the Room of Requirement close. “Give him time,” she said softly.

            I nodded and sagged down into a sofa. Hermione followed me, sitting by my side.

            “So tell me about Draco. What’d he say?” Hermione asked.

            I told her. For the first time, I opened up about how much I was head-over-heels in love with Draco Malfoy. I told her how wonderful and magical our wedding had been, without going into the sexual details. I even gave her several examples of how sweet he was, including this morning’s message, apologizing for not being a better husband.

            “You really love him,” she concluded.

            “Yeah…” I trailed off, wondering if he could love me too in the way I loved him.

            “But?” Hermione prodded.

            “But he’s asexual. Can he love me back?” I asked.

            She looked at me in disbelief for a moment, before giving me a playful whack to the side of my head. “Of course, you idiot! That type of wedding ritual can’t take unless both parties love each other! He’s clearly just as madly in love with you, as you are with him!”

            “He is?” I asked, hopeful as I let her words sink in.

            “Yes, he is! Why wouldn’t he be?” She sounded a teeny bit exasperated, like she was wondering how boys could be so thick.

            “He’s asexual. Love and romance…I don’t know…”

            “Love and romance are not sex! If he wasn’t in love with you and didn’t have romantic feelings for you, the marriage ritual wouldn’t have worked. Get it through your thick head, Harry: Draco Malfoy is in love with you and has romantic feelings for you. Your husband clearly wants to be a true husband to you, otherwise he wouldn’t have left you the ring to communicate with,” she informed me.

            I looked at my ring and twisted it around my finger. I suddenly felt the warm sensation of a message. I slipped my ring off and looked. It now read, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree with Granger.”

            “Is that a message?” Hermione asked excitedly.

            “Yeah,” I answered, still in shock from the message and trying to comprehend what he was saying.

            “Can I see?” she asked.

            I held out my ring to show her. She let out a surprised laugh and asked, “See? He loves you.”

            I nodded, the realization sinking in and leaving a warm, fuzzy feeling in my stomach. Draco loves me.

            My ring grew warm again and another message appeared. “Ron’s an arse.” I smiled and Hermione chuckled, still able to read my ring from this angle. Then a few seconds later, a third message came. “I bet he told you that because I can’t have sex, I can’t have romance.”

            I cringed at that, because Ron hadn’t said anything of the sort. It was my own insecurities that put that idea in my head.

            “Well don’t just stand there! Message him back!” Hermione exclaimed. “Do you need privacy? I could leave.”

            I nodded and said, “But don’t leave. Just give me a minute.”

            She nodded and I slunk off to a corner to write a message to Draco. “Do you want a romance with me?” I asked, just to be certain I understood him correctly.

            “I already have one, you loveable fool,” Draco replied.

            “I love you too,” I replied, my smile splitting my face. Suddenly my dower mood was lifted.

            “I’ve always loved you.” Then a minute later, he sent a second, “Now go finish your chat with your friend,” and then a third, “We’ll talk later.”

            I slipped my ring back on as my chest practically burst with happiness! He loved me! He’d always loved me!

            After taking a minute to savior those words, I turned to Hermione and said, “You were right.”

            “I’m always right. Tell me how,” she requested.

            We sat once more and I spilled my guts about how bloody in love I was. I was so happy and Draco had made me that way. I couldn’t wait for this war to end, so that Draco and I could be together.

            Hermione was happy for me. She just had one critical thing to say. “Don’t you _ever_ perform a ritual that you don’t know what it is, ever again, Harry. Do you understand how dangerous that was?”

            “Yeah, I know. Sorry,” I apologized, although in the back of my mind, I knew that if Draco asked me right now to perform a sex ritual with him without explaining it, I would be down. I trusted Draco to look out for me. After all, he was my husband.

 

* * *

 

            The following week I was called to Dumbledore’s office about a letter he’d gotten from Aunt Petunia after she was paid a visit from the police. Draco’s claims of rape had finally trickled their way over to Little Whinging. Dumbledore said he would have it taken care of. The Muggles involved didn’t need to be obliviated, but they would soon forget that there was a case to be investigated.

            Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would probably spend the rest of their lives thinking that I was a rapist, but I didn’t care. I was married now, with Draco’s protection. My mother’s protection was gone and with it, the only reason I had to maintain the connection to my Muggle relatives. I was never going back there, so it didn’t matter what they thought of me.

            I figured that if this was what it took for Draco to heal, then it was worth it. He was my husband and we were getting along so well now. Of course, he was in hiding and I might never see him again, but we were exchanging messages back and forth each and every evening. Through my Protean charmed ring, he would ask me how my day was and what was going on in the outside world, and send me words of encouragement. I’d ask how he was and tell him I missed him. We were even in the habit of ending our chats with love yous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next will be the war. Please Review!


	20. Chapter 20

            As the school year began to wrap up with no progress in the war, I began to feel like I had to do something to move things along. Dumbledore was still pressuring me to get that memory from Slughorn and in my desperation, I remembered my bottle of Felix Felicis and decided to take half the bottle. That led me to recovering the memory from Slughorn. Soon after, Dumbledore told me of our upcoming mission to find an actual Horcrux, and I was certain that my luck was finally turning around. But then the Horcrux had already been switched out for a fake by R. A. B. and Snape killed Dumbledore upon our return. It was my fault too, because I’d fetched Snape, just like Dumbledore asked. Dumbledore had pleaded with Snape to save his life, but Snape had ended it instead.

            On top of that, the Carrow twins disappeared from the school the night of Dumbledore’s death and no one knew why or how. There was talk it was linked to Dumbledore’s death. Maybe their parents knew the school was no longer safe and called them home. I, however, suspected they were involved somehow. They were the ones who put Crabbe and Goyle up to the first attack on Dumbledore. But they were gone and no one could find them.

            The war came, raging around me, and all the while I felt Draco’s protection warm behind my naval. All the while, I missed Draco. I knew he was safe behind his own Fidelius. We sent messages back and forth with my ring on a daily basis. But I still missed him and longed to see his face.

            And then it was over, just the way Draco said it would end. Voldemort’s killing curse rebounded back onto himself and he was dead. Snape was dead too, a secret hero after all. So many others died with them: Fred and Collin, Remus and Tonks, Lavender and countless others.

            The other side was decimated. I felt personally responsible for Vincent Crabbe and Flora Carrow’s deaths, because they, along with Gregory Goyle and Hestia Carrow, had cornered me and my friends when we were attempting to destroy the Horcrux made from Ravenclaw’s Diadem. Ron and I had managed to save Goyle and Hestia and I’d tried to get Flora too, but the fire reached her and Crabbe first. Part of me felt like Crabbe got what he deserved, because he set the fire in the first place. But then part of me felt sorry for him, because his girlfriend put him up to it.

            As I sat in the Great Hall, surrounded by death and hope, a reporter came up to me and asked, “What are you going to do now, Harry?”

            “I am going to find my husband and make sure he never leaves me again,” I said, not knowing how I would do it.

            I’d sent Draco a message through my ring immediately after the fighting had ended and although he sent me back a, “Good job,” he hadn’t given me the secret to his house. I still couldn’t go to him and despite my repeated messages sent with my ring, he hadn’t given me any explanation for the cold shoulder. We’d been getting on so well for the last year; why wasn’t he answering me?

            With the reporter, the inevitable questions followed, because I’d kept the marriage a secret to protect Draco. I almost brushed them aside and told the reporter to leave me alone, but then I thought better of it, because there was a chance Draco might see the article. So instead I played nice and gave the interview, being careful to say what I wanted people to think happened, not what did happen. I didn’t want people to know Draco had tricked me. I didn’t want anyone to know he’d gone into hiding without telling me. No one needed to know about the potions. But they did need to know that I loved Draco Lucius Malfoy Potter and that he was my husband.

            The article was the front-page story just twelve hours later. The world was still reeling from their last story, about how I’d ended the war. Everyone was eager to hear more about me and how I’d done it. Apparently the fact that I was married merited a special edition front page story. I was just hoping Draco would see it and come to me.

            It was a very different Malfoy who came for me. Within the hour of the paper being published, Lucius Malfoy showed up at the school.

            “Have you been in hiding with Draco?” I asked incredulously. He’d disappeared after being released from Azkaban by Voldemort. I’d assumed him dead.

            “No, I’ve been in hiding on my own. I tried to contact them, but they only sent an elf to tell me to wait until after the war. I want my wife and my son back and I don’t care if I have to accept you as my son to do it. Come on; we’re going home,” he said.

            I nodded and followed him, even letting him side-along apparate me to a region near where Malfoy Manor used to be. We walked right past it, coming out on the neighbor’s property a mile away. Lucius turned back and took a step in the direction we’d just come. I did too. I was about to take another, but he stopped me.

            “It’s here. Right here. I’m not moving from this spot until Draco and Narcissa let us in,” he insisted.

            I could see he was right, by the way our surroundings wavered. If I inched my head forward, we were on one side of the Manor. If I pulled back, we were on the other.

            I tried using my ring to send Draco a message, but he didn’t respond. He didn’t even send me his usual daily messages. I hadn’t heard anything since the, “Good job,” after I defeated Voldemort.

            Giving up on my ring, I screamed for Draco until my throat was sore. Lucius stood there in silence and then sat down. When I got tired, I sat too. I focused then on sending pleading message after message with my ring, begging him to let me in.

            Night came and went. I woke up in the morning with Lucius’ back pressed against mine. That wasn’t the odd part—we’d fallen asleep like that—the odd part was that we were inside a tent that had not been there when we’d passed out from exhaustion in the wee hours. The thin summer blankets covering our legs hadn’t been here either.

            “Lucius!” I called, not daring to move for fear the tent and blankets would vanish.

            “Huh?” he asked, coming awake.

            Then Lucius jumped up. “The elves have been here. Draco and Narcissa know we’re here. They are going to let us in or I’m going to bring that Fidelius in on their heads!” he proclaimed.

            I seconded his sentiment, although I didn’t know how I would do it.

            We heard the loud pop of multiple apparition and then giggling. I felt a rush of relief as Draco and Narcissa Malfoy and a hoard of elves materialized in front of us.

            “Our husbands our impatient, dear,” Narcissa said.

            “I guess we have to deal with them now,” Draco drawled.

            “Do give them the secret. I’ve missed mine dreadfully,” Narcissa replied.

            “Draco, listen to your mother. Your husband and I are becoming fast friends in our alliance. The war is over. It’s time you let us come home,” Lucius insisted.

            I smiled at the thought of Lucius Malfoy implying that Malfoy Manor was my home too.

            “Well Harry? What do you want?” Draco asked me.

            “To come home to you,” I answered.

            He smiled, reaching out a hand to me as he said, “Let’s go home, Harry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is wrapping up. Next chapter will be Harry and Draco spending the day together like a married couple and we’ll finally get answers to all of the questions that have been building from the beginning. Let me know what you are dying to know, so I make sure to cover it! Please Review.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There is mention of sexual activity in this chapter.

            Draco gave me a rushed tour of Malfoy Manor, separating the house by floor and then by wing. Many of the sections he bypassed, telling me only that the rooms were of no interest or not currently being used. Two sections he bypassed, explaining that they belonged to his parents. The sections he actually took me to amounted to a number of common areas, such as the drawing room, the library, the dining room, the drawing room, the sitting room, and the tea room. I wasn’t quite sure what the difference between the last three was, other than the tea room contained a small table. Then the tour ended with Draco’s wing of the Manor, which was as big as an average sized house all on its own. I quickly found myself in the antechamber to Draco’s bedroom, sitting on an argyle patterned sofa.

            Draco sat down next to me and began looking at me, like he was trying to memorize my face. I stared back at him, taking in his features and how subtly he’d changed in the last year. There was silence for a good long while as his smile slowly grew until he was beaming at me.

            Then he squeezed my hand and I wasn’t sure what he wanted. My mind racing, I blurted out the first thing that came to me. “Um, are you…er?” I asked, the word catching in my throat.

            “Er, what?” he asked, smiling at me indulgently. I’d never seen that look on his face before.

            “Pregnant,” I blurted out.

            “Pregnant? Why would I be pregnant?” he asked with his sneer. It’d been so long since I’d seen him sneer, that I actually felt fondness for the expression.

            “Because I died. The second-time Voldemort killed me, it bounced off me and killed him, but the first time, I died,” I revealed. It was only the ineptitude of Peter Pettigrew pronouncing me dead that saved me.

            “You didn’t die. My potion protected you. That’s why you didn’t die,” he replied.

            “But I left my body and went to King’s Cross Station with Dumbledore,” I persisted.

            “You were unconscious, that’s all. I saw it. You were never dead. There’s no way the potion would make me pregnant, just because you were unconscious for a few minutes,” he said.

            “Are you sure? What if it’s too soon to tell?” I persisted.

            “I think I would be able to tell, but if you wish, you could do the test. I’ll allow it,” he replied.

            “I don’t know it,” I admitted.

            He huffed. “Well I don’t know either and I’m not asking my mother to do it; she’ll tell my father.”

            “I think it’s too soon to do the spell. I think we have to wait a week from conception at least,” I said.

            “Then why are you pestering me now?” he asked exasperated. “Why don’t we wait until it’s been a week?”

            “Fine,” I conceded.

            “Fine,” he seconded.

            There was silence again and the annoyance slowly faded from his features. Then he added with a shy smile, “I told you, I’ve been waiting for you to come home for that.”

            I kissed him then. It was soft and hesitant, because I didn’t know how he’d take it. I’d never kissed him before. I didn’t know how he planned on making that baby. Would he let me put it in him? Or would it be tubes and flasks? What sort of marriage was he planning? What sort of marriage would an asexual person want? I knew he wanted romance, but I didn’t know what romance without sex was like. How far would he be willing to go?

            But then he kissed me back, taking control and dominating my mouth with his tongue. He molded his lips to mine and made me breathless with desire for him. I felt unsteady on my feet, as all the blood in my body rushed to my lips and my cock.

            When I broke away for air, he was gasping too. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? That he was kissing me and into it? There would at least be kissing in our marriage.

            In between deep lungfuls, I asked, “Why didn’t you come for me sooner? Why’d you leave me waiting out there all day?”

            “You needed the time to bond with my father. It’s only a start on getting over your differences, but it’s a good start,” he answered breathily.

            It was more of his absurd psychic reasoning. I was used to it from him, but I wasn’t satisfied. “You know, you really had me worried. I was beginning to think you were back to your pre-Howler from Snape self,” I said.

            “It’s easier not to be an arsehole when you’re not living together and not seeing each other all the time. I only had to be on my best behavior during our little chats. But I saw you coming home and expecting me to be like that all the time. I saw the fights that would follow. I’m sorry I had to ignore you, but it solved two problems: it got you and my father on the right track and it reminded you that I’m far from perfect. The fights won’t be so bad now.”

            I didn’t like it, but I excepted his explanation. It was basically his way of letting me know that although he was trying not to be an arse, deep down he was still a git. I’d fallen in love with that git. I kissed him again. Again, we snogged until we were breathless. This time, when we broke apart, I said, “I need you to stop me if I go too far. You can set the pace. I’ll do whatever you want. If you’re never ready…for that…I understand.”

            He turned away and spoke softly, “I’m a lot better. I want it. I just don’t know how to do it.”

            I felt my cheeks hurting as my smile grew even bigger. This was the best news I could hope for. My year of trying had paid off. Maybe I had slipped a little, but even in my wildest dreams, I kept it consensual, always slow and gentle and letting him lead after making him verbally confirm he wanted it. And now he was healing.

            “You haven’t see anything bad?” I asked, to make sure.

            He shook his head. “Nothing since you broke my ribs. That was the last of it. I don’t know what I was thinking before. Ever since I left you, I’ve done nothing but miss you and dream about you coming home to me someday. I want to be your husband and not just in name. I can see us together. I just can’t see how we get there...”

            “It’s okay. I’m new at it too…There is something I need to ask you, though…” I trailed off. I was hesitant, because this was such a sensitive subject.

            “What?” he prodded.

            “The rape. I need to know how it happened, so I can make sure it never happens. This isn’t going to be like the bathroom. It doesn’t have to happen and it’s not going to,” I insisted.

            He looked away. “It already isn’t going to happen anymore. You decided not to do it in sixth year.” His voice was small and he crossed his arms over his chest, hugging himself for comfort.

            I wrapped my arms around him, sensing he needed it and said, “I know this is hard, but if we are going to be married, I need to know the details, so I can make sure it never happens. Even if the rape itself no longer happens, I still don’t want anything remotely reminiscent happening either. Do you know where it happened?”

            “No…well yes, I think. It might’ve been in my old bedroom. I switched bedrooms, so I wouldn’t have to be reminded.”

            Only the Malfoys had a big enough house that they could just stop using one room, but I was glad he no longer slept in the room where he’d seen me hurting him.

            “Good. And how did it start? Were we fighting?” I asked.

            He shook his head. “I don’t know what starts it. I’m just there and you come in, vanish my clothes, and pin me to the bed. My wrists…above my head…you’re holding them tight with both your hands and your body is on top of me, heavy on my chest, pinning me down,” he blurted out in a panicked rush, hands pressed against his own chest. Then he took a deep breath and spoke in a calmer voice. “But you don’t do it anymore.”

            “I decided a long time ago that I’m never going to push you or do anything like that. You’re going to take the lead, every time, so nothing like that ever happens,” I replied, trying to catch his eye, but he wouldn’t make eye contact.

            He nodded and whispered, “You sit on my cock.”

            “Well then cowgirl is out,” I insisted. “There are plenty of other positions. We’ll figure it out together. We’ll go only as far as you’re ready for and I’m not going to force you to do any-”

            He cut me off in the middle of my promise. “I know. Harry, there’s something else I need to tell you first,” he said.

            “Yes?” I asked eagerly, hoping he was about to tell me something good, like that he’d finally started getting erections again.

            “Do you remember that book with anti-domestic violence charms?” he asked, taking a peak at my face, before turning away again.

            “Yes. What about it?”

            “I used some of the spells from that book. That’s why I can’t heal when you hurt me. It’s a charm, to make you see the damage you inflict and realize what you are doing to me. I got a little desperate back in fifth year and couldn’t take it anymore,” he revealed, finally looking at me.

            “Oh?” I asked, brow furrowed as I processed the information. He had deceived me, but it was worth it to be married to him. I was still so happy that one little lie wasn’t going to ruin it.

            “And I cast one to make my injuries at your hands more severe than they otherwise would be. With each attack, the injuries worsen,” he continued.

            “That’s okay, because I’m never going to attack you again. Unless it’s with kisses, that is,” I said, leaning in to do just that.

            He pushed me away. “And I cast the one that prevents my blood from clotting when you make me bleed. I don’t know why, but the charm worked equally on you and the Dark Lord. I had to cast that one, or I would have ended up a Death Eater,” he explained.

            “My blood was in his veins and he marked me as his equal. There was a little bit of him inside me. It’s dead now. You don’t have to worry about him ever again,” I reassured.

            “You aren’t getting it!” he yelled, eyes focused on me now. “I did it all to myself! I’m the reason I almost died all those times, not you! Not even him! I cast those charms and I tricked you into marrying me! I don’t deserve you!”

            I took his hands in mine and pulled him into me. I wrapped my arms around him, hugging his body against my own. “But I deserve you. I won the war, just like you said I would and now I want my husband back. I love you, Draco Malfoy. I would’ve married you, if you had asked. I’d marry you again, right now!” I proclaimed.

            “And sex?” he asked.

            I leaned in and kissed him. “I want sex from you; that’s never going to change. But I don’t need sex from anyone. I can wait forever for that, as long as I have you,” I insisted.

            “I seem to recall a vision of sticky fingers,” he said.

            “You started that one. If you can have sticky fingers up your bum, then you should be putting those sticky fingers up mine too,” I said playfully.

            “Why do you want to bottom so badly? I can’t top,” he said with a groan.

            I paused and thought about it. I eventually answered, “I just thought that I was supposed to bottom for you. You’re bigger.”

            He shook his head. “I can see it, but only just…” he trailed off.

            “And?” I asked.

            “And your cock is inside me,” he said looking away, refusing to make eye contact as he said it.

            “You want that?” I asked, brow furrowing in concentration.

            “It’s not rape,” he answered.

            “But do you actually want it, or are you just suggesting it, because you feel pressured now that we’re married?” I pressed.

            “I want it,” he admitted.

            I growled in my excitement, hands groping up and down his body. I didn’t care if he wanted to bottom, as long as it was sex. I just didn’t want him getting hurt or being emotionally scarred.

            I began rocking into him in my frenzy, nipping at his lips and slipping my hands under his clothes. But I didn’t push him. He wasn’t hard and I wasn’t about to take this further until he was ready.

            I was about ready to cum in my pants, when he pushed me away and pulled off his shirt. His pale chest was flushed and heaving for breath. I gulped down air too and copied him, removing my own shirt.

            He pressed a hand to my heart, tracing the scar from Voldemort’s locket. “What happened?” he asked.

            “Just a burn. I’ll tell you all about it later. How’s your…” I trailed off, fingers tracing the metal plate screwed into his rib.

            “Healed, finally.”

            “Completely?” I asked, wondering if his ribs were still delicate.

            He nodded and reached for the zip of my trousers. I figured that meant I didn’t need to be extra careful with him, but I still felt like treating him as if those ribs were delicate. All those anti-domestic violence charms were still in place, as far as I knew, and I was not going to ever risk hurting him again.

            I let him work my fly open, kissing and sucking his neck. As my trousers fell down my slender hips, I requested, “Now take yours off too.”

            He turned an even brighter red, but reached for his buttons with fumbling hands. His hands shook as they struggled with button after button. It took so long that I secretly vowed to buy him Muggle trousers, to make it go faster next time, but I didn’t rush him.

            Then his trousers fell down his long legs and he stepped out of them. I kicked out of mine and closed the distance between us, pressing my crotch to his. He had more meat there than I did, but his was soft, while mine was hard and pounding.

            “You still haven’t got an erection?” I asked.

            He shook his head, a sad look on his face, and whispered, “No.”

            “It’s all right. We can keep kissing until you do,” I said, pushing onto my tiptoes to reach his lips.

            He turned his head away and murmured, “Then we’ll never get to the sex. I’m soft in the vision. Is that…okay?”

            He sounded so unsure. I pulled him tight against me. “Only if it’s okay with you. You’re doing this, not me. I’m going to wait until you’re ready,” I insisted.

            “You’re going to cum in your pants and fall asleep, before I’m ready,” he warned.

            “Then I’ll be refreshed when you wake me. We don’t need to do it today. I will wait for you,” I promised. “I don’t care if I have to wait years; I will wait.”

            He nodded, letting his lips lower until they were once again within my reach. I kissed him and he kissed me back. I began rocking into him again, our pants still between us, his cock flaccid as ever. Then he reached a timid hand down between us, venturing into my pants. I came at his touch, his hot hand burning my aching, pulsating flesh.

            He giggled, of all things, pulling out cum covered fingers to look at them.

            “If you put them in your bum, I’m going to want some in my bum too,” I warned.

            He laughed and then licked them. “I’ve been craving more of that potion,” he explained, in between licks and giggles.

            “I haven’t,” I admitted. I’d never craved the taste of a potion in my life.

            “Well yours probably tasted like salty gelatin. Mine tasted like you,” he said.

            “Mine did taste like salt-flavored gelatin. What do I taste like?”

            He shrugged and answered, “The way you smell.”

            I yawned.

            “See, I told you that you were tired,” he said.

            “Only because I screamed myself hoarse for you yesterday and then stayed up half the night waiting for you,” I replied.

            “Come to bed with me. I want to cuddle. We can figure sex out when we wake,” he said, pulling me towards his bed.

            I didn’t need to be told twice. I went. I cuddled. I fell asleep in his arms, the way I’d dreamt so many nights during the war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a lot in this one. It’s a big transition between friends and married and Draco has had a lot of time to grow and heal. How did I do with it? Please Review!


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Although no actual sex occurs in this one, it is basically all foreplay and pillow talk.

            I woke up to see Draco silhouetted by the light from the bathroom as he toweled his hair dry. It was an enticing sight, his muscles flexing as he worked.

            “Have you been working out?” I asked as I got up and went to him, feeling those muscles with the tips of my fingers.

            He nodded. “I didn’t want to be scrawnier than you,” he answered with a smirk.

            “Uh huh,” I said. Then I leaned down and licked him, tracing his muscles with my tongue. I started with his bicep and moved to his pecs, licking lower and lower along defined abdominals.

            “What are you doing?” he asked as my fingers reached the towel around his waist.

            “Having my way with you. Get on the bed,” I demanded.

            His eyes widened, but he moved towards the bed. He even let me take the towel off when he got there, finally letting me see all of him. His limp cock hung down between his legs, practically to his knees.

            “Do you want this?” I asked automatically. It was a routine I’d built into my sexual fantasies.

            “Yes,” he whispered.

            “Turn around and let me see you,” I requested, pulling one of his arms up to encourage him to give me a twirl.

            He did. He was absolutely gorgeous. His arse was perfect, round, and enticing. His legs were long and slender, all the way up to his arse. His back was strong and corded with muscle. His arms and chest were lickable. His skin was smooth and flawless, hair only between his legs and under his pits. And then that handsome face and perfectly white teeth on top of it all? I groaned, my dick throbbing in appreciation.

            His cheeks were red and he was looking away as he turned back around.

            “Don’t be shy,” I said. “You’re perfect. Let me show you how perfect you are.”

            “I won’t get hard,” he whispered.

            “It’s okay. I’m still going to try, as long as you are enjoying it. Stop me if it hurts,” I said, pushing softly on him, to encourage him to lie down on the bed. He did.

            He crawled backward as I crawled over him. Then once he was all the way on the bed, he pulled a pillow over his face to hide. I would have preferred to see him, but if he needed to do it like this, I wasn’t going to stop him. I’d wait until next time to take his pillow away.

            I leaned in and resumed licking my way down his body, nuzzling his thighs to get him to spread them, so I could get at the soft cock resting there. I licked my way down the top of his cock, from base to tip. Then I sucked gently on the tip for several long minutes, before daring to reach down and touch it. I moved it so that it lay on his chest and I could get at the underside. There was a ridge running along the bottom, blue veins crisscrossing over it, even though he was still soft.

            Soft, his cock was as wide as mine was hard. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was hard, but I did know better, because his flesh gave beneath my tongue with each lick. I licked him from base to tip, swirled my tongue around the head, and then suckled at the place where his foreskin connected with the shaft.

            His whole body twitched, his arms suddenly coming down to get in my way, as he let out a surprised yelp. “What are you doing?” he asked, looking at me from around the dislodged pillow.

            I popped off his head and answered, “Sucking your cock. Did you feel something?”

            “Yes!”

            “Well, what did you feel?” I asked curiously.

            When he didn’t answer, I leaned in and sucked again, harder this time. He twitched again. I popped off again, to ask, “I need to know if it feels good or if it hurts. So…?”

            “It’s hard to tell. Good, I think,” he answered, panting.

            “Have you ever felt this good before?” I asked, in between short licks to the sensitive area.

            “No, but don’t get your hopes up. It takes a lot of blood to make me hard.”

            “I’ll take that as a challenge,” I said, before getting back to work.

            I sucked him, cupping the rest of the large head in my hand and squeezing gently. My other hand I placed on his hip, so that I could move with him, as he started squirming underneath me. Slowly, his cock began to plump up, getting even fatter than before, but not any longer. It was more than fat enough when I lifted my head to ask, “Is this hard?”

            He reached down and bent his shaft over, saying, “No.”

            “It’s hard enough, don’t you think?” I asked, my own hands straightening it back out so that I could trail my fingers up and down the velvet flesh.

            “It’s hard enough for you to fuck me already,” he replied, a challenge in his tone.

            “Yeah, if that thing gets any fatter, I’m not sure if I could get it in my arse. I’m a virgin too,” I teased.

            He spread his legs and planting his heels into the mattress, showing off his hole. It was a dark, dusky pink. I groaned as the sight of it sent shivers down my body.

            “Show me what you like about bottoming,” he said, one hand passing me a jar of lube.

            “You haven’t seen it yet?” I asked skeptically, taking the lube.

            He shook his head. “No. I can’t quite see. I only get flashes of it.”

            “Maybe we should wait,” I said hesitating, the jar heavy in my hands.

            “I’m tired of waiting. We’ve been married a year.”

            “I’ve only been back a day,” I countered.

            “I’ve been seeing us married since I was three.”

            “I don’t want to hurt you.”

            “Then just do your fingers this time, but I swear, if you keep me waiting, I’m going to hex you,” he threatened pulling one of my hands towards his bum.

            “You’re really impatient, aren’t you?” I asked, giving in and opening the lube.

            He shrugged.

            “This may hurt. I’m gonna go slow, but you have to stop me if I’m hurting you,” I said, tracing his hole with one finger.

            He shivered, muscles flexing in his thighs, and nodded.

            “I need to cast a spell to clean you,” I said, still circling his rim.

            “I already did, in the bathroom,” he replied.

            Of course he did. He was always a step ahead of me. “All right then. It helps if you bear down when I push in.”

            “You’re not pushing your cock in?” he asked sounding alarm.

            “No, just my finger. You didn’t see me fingering you?” I asked, wondering why he’d done the spell, if he hadn’t seen it.

            “I only saw a flash of you inside me. I don’t see everything, the way you seem to think. I usually only see the really important things, but I’ll see them over and over again, leading up to it. I don’t know if it happens today, tomorrow, or next year. But I did the spell this morning just in case, the same as I did yesterday,” he answered.

            “You did it yesterday too?”

            He nodded. “Just do it already!”

            “Okay, bear down. I’m going in,” I warned.

            I pressed my finger in and he let out a gasp of air as his walls gave way. He grunted and I felt his muscles pushing back against me. I pushed again and slipped further in. He whimpered and I remembered how my first time had felt. I looked up and saw that he’d gone completely flaccid again, losing the plumpness I’d worked so hard to gain. Determined to make him feel good, I crooked my finger and started searching.

            It was a little further in, but I knew the instant I found it, because he moaned in delight, his eyes rolling back in his head and his legs coming out from under him.

            “Good?” I asked, pressing into it again.

            “Mmm-hmmm,” he moaned.

            My hand was strained under the weight of him, now that his legs weren’t supporting him. I used my other hand to grab hold of one of his ankles and guide it back to the bed. “Come on, get it back into place,” I said.

            He complied, working his legs back underneath him.

            I waited until he was once again in the proper position, before I moved, crooking my finger as far into his prostate as I could reach.

            He spasmed, but kept his feet in place this time.

            I let my free hand wander up his body, to where his cock lay flopped over his hip. It was plumping back up; not as fat as it had been, but getting there. I guided it down to my mouth, so I could suck it while I fingered him. Once the head was in my mouth, I ran my tongue in circles over the sensitive spot on the underside.

            Slowly but surely, his cock grew in width. By the time I started thrusting my finger in and out of him, he was twice his normal width. He was so wide, sucking him strained my mouth. I tried to release his fat head, but it was stuck. Slowly, I worked my mouth off his head, hoping to Merlin my teeth didn’t scrape him. I felt relief wash through me as I finally got it out without him screaming in pain or softening. I didn’t know that could happen and I silently vowed to be more careful with how much I took in when he was soft, because it sure turned into a mouthful.

            “Are you hard yet?” I asked, squeezing his head with the hand not in his arse. It had a lot of give, especially considering the size of it.

            He reached down and tested it. It still bent, but only fifteen degrees or so. “Almost, I think,” he answered breathily.

            “My jaw hurts. Do you think you’re going to cum anytime soon?” I whined.

            “Your jaw hurts? My legs are sore. I’m tired of holding this position,” he complained.

            “So what do you want to do?” I asked. Surely he wasn’t suggesting we give up before he cums.

            “Take a break,” he said, lowering his legs to the bed.

            “But you’re finally almost hard,” I said, pulling my finger out of him.

            He shrugged.

            “Don’t you want to cum?” I asked.

            He shrugged again.

            “You have cum before, when you were eleven?” I asked. I hadn’t cum for the first time until I was twelve, almost thirteen, but then I wasn’t the one seeing visions of sex from the time I was ten.

            “No,” he admitted.

            I groaned. All this time I’d assumed he’d masturbated those few times he’d gotten hard at age eleven.

            I scooted back on the bed and took him into my arms, peppering kisses on his neck. He turned his head to face me more fully and captured my lips with his own. We snogged like that until we needed to break apart for air.

            “You don’t have to wait for me to cum. You can go ahead and cum without me. Do you need me to touch you?” he asked, one hand hovering out towards my cock, as if he was afraid of it.

            I wanted him to do more than touch me—I wanted him to wank me or suck me or finger me or something—but I was so worked up that I feared I’d cum the moment he touched me. I could feel my pulse throbbing through my length. “If you touch me, I’m going to cum,” I warned.

            He let out a sigh of relief and his lips quirked up into a smile. He slowly reached out and gripped my head in his hot hand. As promised, I came instantly, spurting all over him.

            “For a second there, I was worried you’d expect me to put in as much work as you did. Good to know you’re easy,” he said, wide smile as he looked at his sticky fingers.

            “Stroke yourself with that hand,” I said huskily, post-orgasmic fog still clouding my brain.

            “Why?” he asked, but reached down and did it anyway. He was already going soft and his touches didn’t bring it back to life.

            “It looks hot,” I answered.

            “It doesn’t do it for me,” he said, giving up his cock for a lost cause.

            “You know, one day we are going to get to the point where I fuck you until I cum in your arse, and you’re going to be left hard and wanting. What are you going to do then?” I challenged.

            “Maybe I’ll flip you over and return the favor,” he returned.

            I moaned at the thought. “Yes, please,” I said, reaching down and tugging his cock one last time.

            “You don’t look like you can fit a cock in there,” he said, playfully poking me in the stomach.

            “Hey!” I protested, batting his hand away.

            “You’re so scrawny, where do you suppose my cock will fit?” he asked, poking me again.

            I squirmed away. “You’ll have to stretch me with your fingers. I’ll have you know that I can take a pretty big dildo up there now,” I said. Knowing his flaccid size, I’d gone to a Muggle store and purchased a variety of sex toys, including a dildo about equal in size to him when he was soft. I’d done a lot of playing with myself during all those boring days I was hiding out in that tent, especially when Ron and Hermione were off together. But I’d never gotten the big one more than half in and I hadn’t been expecting him to double in width, which meant there was no way I could take him hard. Merlin, I still didn’t know how big he would get when fully erect.

            “Uh huh,” he said, hands running over my stomach, but not poking this time.

            “Do you think it got longer, or just wider?” I asked, referring to his penis.

            “A tiny bit longer. Mostly wider,” he said.

            “Well that’s a relief: it’s long enough as it is,” I teased, not mentioning that I was just the teeniest bit scared by how wide he was getting. I was excited by it, yes, but also scared, sharing his worry over how I’d ever get it inside me.

            “I bet you look so fat if I ever get it in there,” he teased, poking me again.

            “Well I bet you look so fat, when I get my baby in you,” I teased, poking him back.

            “Who said anything about putting the baby in me? I thought we were putting it in you!” he replied, wrestling my hands away.

            “How are you going to get it in?” I asked, squirming against him. He was taller than me and thanks to his workout routine, as strong as me now. My cock twitched in excitement at the game.

            “I have the important part in those little tubes. I just put the contents of one up your butt and you’ll be fat with my baby,” he answered, pinning me down, raising up on all fours to do so.

            I let him pin me, grinning when he sat his fit round arse on my stomach. “I could get used to the view,” I said, looking down at his crotch.

            He looked down, took in the sight of his flaccid cock draped over my belly and scooted back a little, bumping into my quickly re-awakening erection.

            “Before you can do that, I’ll be fingering you with my cum as lube and then it’ll be my baby inside you,” I countered, grinding up into him and groaning when my cock head met his soft arse.

            “How are you going to get mine up there with it, if you can’t even get it out of my cock?” he asked confidently, as if he was sure he had me on this point.

            “I already have your sperm in me, right here,” I said placing a hand over my naval, where I could still feel the warming effects of his potion. “My magic is strong enough to force your little swimmers out of me and back into you, one at a time.” I didn’t know if it’d work, but I was sure going to try. Plus, there was always a chance that his magic would redirect one of his sperm from him bollocks to wherever it needed to go. After all, male pregnancies could be completely spontaneous.

            For the first time in a long time, I had him. He stared at me, gaping mouthed. “You want to explain that one to my father? Somehow I think his stance on inviting you into our home might change very quickly the moment he thinks I’m the bottom.”

            “Well I can’t carry the children! Kingsley’s already hired me as an Auror!” I argued.

            “You’ll just have to explain to him that you quit, because you like taking it up the arse so much, that I knocked you up.”

            “You talk a good game, let’s see you back it up,” I challenged. If a contest got his cock in me, then I’d egg him on all day. As it was, I was sure I’d beat him and knock him up before he could knock me up. And if I lost, I didn’t mind, really. I’d been fantasizing about being a bottom for a year now and bottoms occasionally ended up pregnant. It happens and I’d deal with it when it did.

            He ground his arse back into me, eyes widening as he observed the effect he was having on me.

            “Turn over and let me see your arse,” he said.

            I did. “I haven’t cleaned it,” I warned.

            He placed two tentative hands on my cheeks.

            “It’s really hairy,” he said.

            “Do you want me to shave it?” I asked, rocking my hard cock into the mattress.

            “No…I just didn’t realize that your name matches your arse,” he replied.

            “You didn’t see it in your visions?”

            “I’m always on my back and you’re always sitting on me in those visions,” he said frowning.

            I groaned, suddenly remembering that I’d been raping him in the visions he’d seen. I rolled out from under him and found my clothes, freshly cleaned and folded on a nearby chase.

            “What are you doing?” he asked uncertainly.

            Merlin, he was probably worried I was mad, because he mentioned the rape.

            “I’m hungry. Your parents live here, so we need to get dressed to eat,” I explained.

            “You’re hungry?” he asked skeptically.

            I nodded. “Yes, I’m starving.”

            “What happened to your cock being hard?”

            “My stomach took over. I just came half an hour ago. I’ll be good until we get some food in our bellies. Besides, if one of us is getting pregnant, we need to eat,” I said as I put my trousers on.

            “Fine,” he said, getting up too.

            He opened a door to a walk-in closet and disappeared among his clothes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a question for you all about the revelation in the last chapter about Draco’s medical issues being self-inflected: did anyone suspect it? I dropped a few hints, but did anyone think the injuries were self-inflicted all along? And when Draco was lying about how hard Harry hit him with the ribs, did anyone catch it?


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter is mostly sex.

            A week later, Draco woke me up in the middle of the night, with an excited shout of, “Harry! Harry, wake up!”

            “What?” I asked groggily, more than half asleep.

            “I saw it!” he exclaimed.

            “Saw what?”

            “Sex! You fucking me!”

            “Good, now go back to sleep.” I rolled over and covered my head with my pillow.

            He tore my pillow away. “Wake up, you dolt! I want to have sex right now!”

            “Huh?” I asked, arms flailing in search of my pillow.  
            “Sex. Your cock, in my arse. It’s brilliant! I want to do it now. You might even get me pregnant…” he wheedled.

            “Why now?” I asked with a groan.

            In the last week, we’d spent so much time experimenting that I’d cum an average of five times a day. I peeked open an eye to look at the time and realized it had only been four hours since I’d passed out after cumming the last time, from a brilliant blow job.

            Draco was now good at giving head, wanking my cock, and rubbing his arse against me until I came. He was still working on fingering me, because he could only get three fingers in. I was getting off so much that the promise of anal sex just was not as tempting as the promise of a few more hours of sleep.

            “Because I saw it happening now. I’ve been fingering myself and I’m ready. Wake up, or I’m just going to sit on it and start riding you,” he warned.

            “I’m up, I’m up!” I exclaimed, sitting up instantly. Just a hint of something not entirely consensual was enough to have my instant attention. I was not about to be responsible for freaking him out again. There wasn’t ever going to be anything close to rape if I could help it.

            We hadn’t made nearly as much progress the other way around. I sucked his cock, wanked him, and fingered him for hours every day, but he’d yet to cum. He got partially hard each time, but we still weren’t sure how hard his cock was supposed to get. So far the biggest he’d gotten was two and a half times the width and half an inch extra in length. I could cum just looking at the monstrosity and imagining it inside me.

            “Lube up your cock. I’ve already lubed my arse,” he said, passing the lube jar to me.

            “What’s the rush?” I asked, scooping up a small glob of lube and covering my cock, adrenalin replacing grogginess.

            “It’s fucking brilliant. Pay attention, Potter. Maybe I could add a tad more…” He eyed the lube and then scooped out a glob.

            I leaned against the headboard and watched the show as he coated his colon in lube.

            “Stop it! No peeking. You’ll cum too soon,” he chastised me, throwing a pillow at my head.

            I groaned. Why was he so bloody difficult?

            “Okay, I’m ready,” he said, throwing a knee over me to straddle me.

            “Can I look now?” I asked petulantly. In my defense, I was really tired.

            “You just concentrate on not cumming too soon. I’m going to punch you in the nose if you cum first. Remember that; it should help. You remember how it felt when I stomped on it, right?” he asked.

            My hands rose to cover my nose of their own volition, because I did remember. Then I yelped in surprise as I felt his hands grabbing my cock and guiding it to his arsehole. He slid down onto to, hot tight walls squeezing me in a way that would normally have me cumming, but I was too scared of getting punched to be anywhere close to that at the moment.

            “Not a peanut!” he exclaimed, voice hoarse with strain.

            “What?” I asked, trying to concentrate on anything other than how good it felt, so I wouldn’t let him down.

            “I called it a peanut before. It’s not. It’s big,” he said, easing his way down.

            I felt rather smug at this proclamation. I knew I wasn’t huge, but I’d never thought I was small until I read those sex books. But I wasn’t small either. I was average and for the first time, average was a good thing.

            Draco moaned as he bottomed out on my cock. I looked down and realized that he was already partially hard, his cock bobbing in the air at half-mast. Had he been like that before he started? He’d never stayed hard and he’d never gotten this hard so quickly before.

            “Wait! We shouldn’t be doing this cowgirl,” I protested, the moment I remembered that this was the position in which the rape occurred.

            “That was with you on top, not me. Cowgirl with me on top is fine,” he said as he adjusted to my size.

            That was all the reassurance I needed to be into it.

            I gasped as he began to rock his hips and roll his spine. It was all that I could do to hold onto him and keep my bollocks from spontaneously releasing. I had to keep that image of me lying on the floor of the train with a broken nose and how awful that had felt at the forefront of my mind, in order to hold back.

            He rode me with a wild abandon that I’d never seen in him before. With each snap of his hips, his cock got a little bit bigger. First it grew wider and wider, then it jumped up in length, and went back to getter wider again. His head was as big as my fist when the thing finally stood up erect, a full inch longer than he was when he was soft. At one inch longer and three times the width, I could see his heartbeat through the veins in his cock and knew he was fully hard. I reached out, wrapping both hands around it, and sure enough, it was as hard as mine.

            “You did it,” I said looking up into his eyes with awe.

            He nodded and moaned, not missing a beat with the fast pace he’d set.

            “How’d you do it?” I asked.

            “I saw it,” he answered, as if this made sense.

            He rode me like a wild bull, pitching and turning and bucking. His hips swiveled and his spine snapped and his cock bobbed in front of my face. It was so close, I could almost taste it. I reached out with my tongue and licked the head.

            Draco moaned loudly at that and pushed his erection into my lips, straining to keep his seat bottomed out on my cock all the while. He rocked side to side on my cock as I guided his cock straight up with my hands and bent down at the neck to get at the sensitive spot on the underside with my mouth. I sucked him as he buggered himself on me. I could barely get him in my mouth, with how wide he’d gotten—it reminded me of bobbing for apples—but I did my best to get as much of him as I could in my mouth. I eagerly sucked and licked, hoping that this would be the time he’d finally cum. I used both hands to slide along his shaft, the tips of my fingers barely touching as I did so.

            I came up for air, taking big gulps of it and pleaded, “Please cum. Please Draco, cum on my cock.”

            He thrashed his head back and forth is frustration. Then he rose up off my cock until only the head was still in, then slammed back down as hard as he could. I bucked up as he bottomed out and was rewarded with seeing him twitch. We did it again and again, slamming into each other as hard as we could, my hands on his cock the whole time. I reached out with my tongue on the upstroke and managed to swipe across that spot he liked.

            And then suddenly he was cumming on the downstroke, spurting thick gobs all over me, including in my eyes. His limbs flailed and he almost bucked himself right off me, but I reached out and grabbed his hips, pulling him back down onto me. I tucked him into my chest with one arm and used the other to keep tugging on his hips in time with my hips, which were still bucking up into him. Suddenly I was doing it all and he was just a spasming ball of goo in my lap, arse clamping down on my cock with the force of his orgasm.

            I came with a roar, slamming up into him one last time, sure I’d connected with his prostate by the way he flailed. I held him there on my cock and let the waves of euphoria wash over me. His walls were gripping me so tightly with each of his spasms that he was pushing me out, but I held on and held him down on my cock. I was going to get him pregnant on our first time and win the bet.

            When I finished cumming, I let go of him, and he flopped over and off of my softening cock.

            “Was it good?” I asked, scooping up a handful of the spunk that was coating my body. It seemed like his body had made up for the years of not cumming by releasing it all at once. It was hot, but it was also burning my eyes.

            “Mmm-hmm,” he moaned, eyes closed, muscles still visibly twitching in his stomach and leg, although thankfully his cock was soft and no longer spouting.

            “You’re going to get pregnant after this. Okay?” I asked, letting the handful of cum splash onto his back. He squirmed at the sensation.

            “Mmm-hmmm,” he murmured again, sated.

            Having his consent, I scooped up another handful of his spunk and pressed it to his anus. It was open and leaking, but I pressed my spunk back up into him with my handful of his spunk. Some leaked out, so I scooped up our combined fluids and pressed it into him again and then used three of my fingers to plug him up.

            He whined, sphincter fluttering on my fingers, and shifted position. Then he lay his head on my sticky shoulder and fell asleep. I sighed and used wandless magic to vanish the semen from my skin and most importantly, my eyes, leaving it only in his arse. There was a reason I was born with terrible eyesight; fate must have known I’d need my glasses to shield my eyes. Next time we did this, I’d wear my glasses.

            Then I closed my eyes and went to sleep, thoughts of a little blond baby getting into trouble running through my mind. I hoped our child was as much trouble as Draco; he deserved it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With that, we’ve finally come to the end. I only have the epilogue left. If you could see one point in their future, which one would it be?


	24. Chapter 24

Epilogue:

            “I don’t want to go…These robes don’t fit right. I look like a fucking whale,” I whined, tugging on the too tight fabric that covered my swollen abdomen.

            Everything I owned was tight. I had the misfortune of being eight months pregnant with our second child, a boy, on the five-year anniversary of the war. I hated these yearly Ministry galas at the best of times, but with my unborn son crushing my lungs and giving me the appearance of hiding a watermelon under my robes, I didn’t want to go more than ever.

            “You look radiant,” Draco said, from his position looking over my shoulder. He tenderly caressed my neck and nuzzled my cheek.

            “No, I look like a cow. A fat cow,” I protested.

            “You could never look like a cow,” he reassured.

            “I do. We don’t have to go. I’m pregnant. They’ll understand,” I said.

            “You do need to go. Those war orphans are giving you an award for philanthropy and they look up to you. I know you don’t want to let the children down, especially because it’s your presence that brings in all the donations,” he reminded me.

            I groaned. I’d hate myself if I didn’t go and he knew it.

            “Come on, none of that. Do I need to remind you of all those fancy charity banquets I untended for you when I was pregnant with Lily? And that was right after the war, when there was one every other week! Everyone was looking at me like I’d imperused you, while it was all I could do not to vomit from the smell of all that food! And I had to pretend I was fine, because it was too soon and we didn’t want everyone to know we were pregnant,” he retorted.

            Draco had gotten pregnant with our daughter Lily the very first time we had sex. He’d wanted a boy and been convinced we were having a boy, because Malfoys _always_ have boys first. But then when he found out she was a girl, he’d done a complete one-eighty and was through the roof with joy over having a little princess. Lily has been the light in his eyes since before she was born.

            Being pregnant with Lily had been really hard on Draco. He’d been ridiculously sick the first six months and then miserably uncomfortable for the remaining three months. It was so bad, he vowed he’d never get pregnant again. It didn’t matter that Lily was a girl, because he had no problem with being the first Malfoy in over two thousand years to leave the family estate to a female heir. He never took me serious when I said I’d carry the next baby, because my job as an Auror was too dangerous. But then I turned up pregnant after a night when we’d gotten a bit carried away and he was instantly excited.

            I was on leave from the Auror Corps, of course. It was nice, because it gave me a chance to stay home with Lily. It also gave Draco the chance to leave the house and be the bread-winner for a while. He was enjoying his job as a professional potion brewer at the local apothecary in Wiltshire, but he was also quick to tell me that he was willing to quit his job to stay home with our children, whenever I want to go back to work. The offer was reassuring, but I was at a point in my life where I was happy to stay home for a while.

            “And remember how I always got you out of there early, with one excuse or the other? I used to blame it on Teddy, before we told people about Lily,” I replied, catching his eye in the mirror.

            “You only did that, because _you_ wanted to leave early. But fine, we can leave early.”

            “And if we also arrive late…” I hedged, aiming to talk my way out of going at all.

            “Now, now, none of that. We’re ready. Lily is looking forward to showing off her new dress. You wouldn’t want to deprive her, would you?” he asked, laying his hands on my huge baby bump.

            “Fine!” I conceded, not at all happy about it.

            “Good. And if you’re good, I’ll give you some cock up your arse tonight,” he offered, pressing his groin into my arse.

            I moaned, instantly hard. He was soft, but I could feel his meat there, pressing against my arse. I had been insatiably horny this whole pregnancy. Normally, I loved getting fucked by my husband, but the pregnancy hormones had amplified it exponentially. I craved his cock and wanted it as much as I could get it. It was a good thing he’d gotten over his hang-ups in bed, before he’d gotten me pregnant, or I probably would’ve combusted with need and want by now.

            For the first few years, we’d taken it slow in bed, meaning that I was the exclusive top and most of the time he was in control. But we’d slowly worked up to him penetrating me and ever since we had, he’s done most of the topping. He was pretty versatile in bed, liking it both ways, as long as he was in charge. But because I preferred to bottom, he ended up doing most of the topping. And he was okay with that, no longer the asexual boy I’d fallen in love with. It was unbelievable how much he’d changed when it came to intimacy and sex. He was completely healed now and it was wonderful.

            Just as I was grinding my arse back into him, wondering if I could convince him to fuck me before the gala, Lily came bouncing into the room in her poufy princess dress.

            Lily had long blond hair, green eyes, and was the perfect mix of me and Draco.

            “Daddy! Father! Can we go to the party _now_?” Lily asked with a whine.

            “Fine! All right. Let’s just go,” I said moodily, separating my body from my sexy husband. Lily’s presence was like throwing a wet blanket on a fire. I loved her, but I couldn’t think about sex when she was in the room.

            “Yay!” Lily exclaimed, jumping up and down excitedly.

            Draco chuckled. “Come on you two, to the floo,” he said, herding us towards the fireplace. “The Weasleys will be wondering where we are.”

            Draco tolerated my friends. It surprised me at first, especially the first Weasley family dinner after the war. It didn’t come naturally to him and he’d looked quite uncomfortable, like he was fighting off a panic attack, the whole time. But he’d put in a lot of effort and tried his best to be charming and polite and it’d paid off. He was now on speaking terms with all the Weasleys and was even good friends with Angelina, George’s wife.

            “Hermione probably convinced Ron to stay home with baby Rose…” I said as I paused in front of the fireplace, implying that we should do the same.

            My two best friends had gotten married a few years ago. Three months ago, they’d had my goddaughter, Rose.

            “No luck. Molly has Rose for the night. It’s their first real date since having the baby,” Draco informed me.

            I groaned, knowing that I had no support. I had to go.

            “Besides, you like honoring war heroes and raising money to help orphans,” Draco added.

            “And they have treacle tart!” Lily exclaimed, getting in on the goading. She loved treacle tart just as much as I did.

            “Fine, let’s go,” I conceded, taking a pinch of floo powder.

            We went and I was glad we did. The children cheered me up and made me forget about how miserably pregnant I was, for a while at least. And when my back started hurting, Draco kept his word and took me home early. Lily was disappointed she only got to eat two helpings of dessert, but she had a good time while we were there. She was also happy to have her grandparents read her stories and put her to bed, so that Draco could fulfill his other promise to me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a couple ideas I’ve been working on, so I will probably start posting a new story next week, or the week after. Keep an eye out. Please Review!


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